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A LESSON TO FATHERS, 


ANSTEY 




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VICE VERSA 


Or, A Lesson to Fathers. 

By F. ANSTEY. 


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th “ t Mr - *** "A 

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ilhpreS™ ‘of {he ‘fmnro’Sr^r of’p "cV'to 'i"*^ dcc ? iv ? d «» «1 

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Copyright 188?, by Thu John W. Lovsll Company. 



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Volume i. No. 30. Sept. 23, 1882. Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription, 52 Numbers, $8.00. 



VICE VERSA. 


CHAPTER I 


* 

BLACK MONDAY. 


« In England, where boys go to boarding-schools, if the holidays were not long 
there would be no opportunity for cultivating the domestic affections.'’— 
Letter of Lord Campbell's, 1835. 

On a certain Monday evening late in January, 1881, 
Paul Bultitude, Esq. (of Mincing Lane, Colonial Produce 
Merchant), was sitting alone in his dining-room at West- 
bourne Terrace after dinner. 

The room was a long and lofty one, furnished in the 
stern, uncompromising style of the mahogany age, now 
supplanted by the later fashions of decorations which, m 
their outset original and artistic, seem fairly on their way 
to become as meaningless and conventional. 


Here were no skillfully contrasted shades of grey or 
green no dado, no distemper on the walls ; the wood- 
work ’was grained and varnished after the manner yv 
the Philistines, the walls papered in dark crimson, with 
heavy curtains of the same color, and the sideboard, 


8 VICE VERSA . 

dinner-wagon, and row of stiff chairs were all carved 
in the same massive and expensive style of ugliness. 
The pictures were those familiar presentments of dirty 
rabbis, fat white horses, bloated goddesses, and mis : 
shapen boors, by masters who, if younger than they 
assume to be, must have been quite old enough to know 
better. 

Mr. Bultitude was a tall and portly person, of a some- 
what pompous and overbearing demeanor ; not much over 
fifty, but looking considerably older. He had a high 
shining head, from which the hair had mostly departed, 
what little still remained being of a grizzled auburn, prom- 
inent pale-blue eyes with heavy eyelids, and fierce, bushy 
white-brown eyebrows. His general expression suggested 
a conviction of his own extreme importance, but, in spite 
of this, his big underlip drooped rather weakly and his 
double chin slightly receded, giving a judge of character 
reason for suspecting that a certain obstinate positiveness 
observable in Mr. Bultitude’s manner might possibly be 
due less to the possession of an unusually strong will 
than to the circumstance that, by some fortunate chance, 
that will had hitherto juiever met with serious opposi- 
tion. 

The room, with all its aesthetic shortcomings, was com- 
fortable enough, and Mr. Bultitude’s attitude — he was 
lying back in a well-wadded leather arm-chair, with a 
glass of claret at his elbow and his feet stretched out 
toward the ruddy blaze of the fire — seemed at first sight 
to imply that happy after-dinner condition of perfect satis- 
faction with one’s self and things in general which is the 
natural outcome of a good cook, a good conscience, and a 
good digestion. 

At first sight ; because his face did not confirm the im- 
pression — there was a latent uneasiness in it, an air of 
suppressed irritation, as if he expected and even dreaded 
to be disturbed at any moment, and yet was powerless to 
resent the intrusion as he would like to do. 

At the slightest sound in the hall outside he would half 
rise in his chair and glance at the door with a mixture of 
alarm and resignation, and as often as the steps died away 

r 


BLACK MONDA Y 


9 

and the door remain closed he would sink back and reset- 
tle himself with a shrug of evident relief. 

Habitual novel readers on reading thus far will, I am 
afraid, prepare themselves for the arrival of a faithful 
cashier with news of irretrievable ruin, or a mysterious 
and cynical stranger threatening disclosures of a disgrace- 
ful nature. 

But all such anticipations must at once be ruthlessly 
dispelled. Mr. Bultitude, although he was certainly a 
merchant, was a fairly successful one — in direct defiance 
of the laws of fiction, where any connection with commerce 
seems to lead naturally to failure in one of the three vol- 
umes. 

He was an old gentleman, too, of irreproachable char- 
acter and antecedents. 

No Damocles’s sword of exposure was swinging over 
his bald but blameless head ; he had no disasters to fear 
and no indiscretions to conceal. He had not been 
intended for melodrama, which, indeed, he would not 
have considered a respectable thing to be connected 
with. 

In fact, the secret of his uneasiness was so obsurdly sim- 
ple and commonplace that I am rather ashamed to have 
made even a temporary mystery of it. 

His son Dick was about to return to school that evening, 
and Mr. Bultitude was expecting every moment to be 
called upon to go through a parting scene with him ; that 
was really all that was troubling him. 

This sounds very creditable to the" tenderness of his 
feelings as a father — for there are some parents who bear 
such a bereavement at the close of the holidays with extra- 
ordinary fortitude, if they do not actually betray an un- 
natural satisfaction at the event. 

But it was not exactly from softness of heart that he was 
restless and impatient, nor did he dread any severe strain 
upon his emotions. He was not much given to sentiment, 
and was the author of more than one of those pathetically 
indignant letters to the papers, in which the British parent 
denounces the expenses of education and the unconscion- 
able length and frequency of vacations. 

He was one of those nervous and fidgety persons who 


10 


'VICE VERSA. 


can not understand their own children, looking on them 
as objectionable monsters whose next movements are 
uncertain — much as Frankenstein must have felt toward 
his monstei. 

He hated to have a boy about the house, and positively 
writhed under the irrevelent and irrepressible questions, 
the unnecessary noises and boisterous high spirits, which 
nothing would subdue ; his son’s society was to him sim- 
. ply an abominable nuisance, and he pined and yearned for 
a release from it from the day the holidays began. 

He had been a widower for some years, and no doubt 
the loss of a mother’s loving tact, which can check the 
heedless merriment before it becomes intolerable, and in- 
terpret and soften the most peevish and unreasonable of 
rebukes, had done much to make the relations between 
parent and children more strained than they might other- 
wise have been. 

As it was, Dick’s fear of his father was just great enough 
to' prevent any cordiality between them, and not sufficient 
to make him careful to avoid offense, and it is not sur- 
prising if, when the time came for him to return to his 
house of bondage at Dr. Grimstone’s, Crichton House, 
Rodwell Regis, he left his father anything but inconsol- 
able. 

Just now, although Mr. Bultitude was so near the hour 
of his deliverance, he still had a bad quarter of an hour 
before him, in which the last farewells must be said, and 
he found it impossible under these circumstances to com- 
pose himself for a quiet half hour’ s nap, or retire to the 
billiard room for a cup of coffee and a mild cigar, as he 
would otherwise have done — since he was certain to be 
disturbed. 

And there was another thing which harrassed him, and 
that was a haunting dread lest at the last moment some 
unforeseen accident should prevent the boy’s departure 
after all. He had some grounds for this, for only a week 
before a sudden and unprecedented snow storm had 
dashed his hopes, on the eve of their fulfillment, by forc- 
ing the Doctor to postpone the day on which the school 
was to reassemble, and now Paul sat on brambles until he 
had seen the house definitely rid of his son’s presence. 


BLACK MONDA V 


ii 


All this time, while the father was fretting and fuming 
in his arm-chair, the son, the unlucky cause of all this dis- 
comfort, had been standing on the mat outside the door, 
trying to screw up enough courage to go in as if nothing 
was the matter with him. 

He was not looking particularly boisterous just then. 
On the contrary, his face was pale, and his eyes rather 
redder than he would quite care for them to be seen by 
any of the “ fellows ” at Crichton House. All the life and 
spirit had gone out of him for the time ; he had a trouble- 
some dryness in his throat, and a general sensation of 
chill-heaviness, which he himself would have described 
— expressively enough, if not with academical elegance — 
as “ feeling beastly.” 

The stoutest hearted boy, returning to the most perfect 
of schools, cannot always escape something of this at that 
dark hour when the sands of the holidays have run out to 
their last golden grain, when the boxes are standing 
corded and labeled in the passage, and some one is going 
to fetch the fatal cab. 

Dick had just gone the round of the house, bidding 
dreary farewells to all the servants ; an unpleasant ordeal 
which he would gladly have dispensed with, if possible, and 
which did not serve to raise his spirits. 

Up stairs, in the bright nursery, he had found his old 
nurse sitting sewing by the high wire fender. She was a 
stern, hard-featured old lady, who had systematically 
slapped him through infancy into boyhood, and he had 
had some stormy passages with her during the past few 
weeks ; but she softened now in the most unexpected 
manner as she said good-by, and told him he was a “ pleas- 
ant, good-hearted young gentleman, after all, though that 
aggravating and contrairy sometimes.” And then she pre- 
dicted, with some of the rashness attaching to irresponsi- 
bility, that he would be “ the best boy this next term as 
ever was, and work hard at all his lessons, and bring home 
a prize ” — but all this unusual gentleness only made the 
interview more difficult to come out of with any credit for 
self-control. 

Then downstairs, the cook had come up in her evening 
brown print and clean collar, from her warm, spice-scented 


12 


VICE VERSA. 


kitchen to remark cheerily that “ Lor’ bless his heart, what 
with all these telegraphs and things, time flew so fast 
now-a-days that they’d be having him back again before 
they all knew where they were ! ” 

And this had a certain spurious consolation about it, 
until one saw that, after all, it put the case entirely from 
her own stand-point. 

After this Dick had parted from his elder sister Bar- 
bara and his young brother Roly, and had arrived where 
we found him first, at the mat outside the dining-room 
door, where he still lingered, shivering, in the cold, foggy 
hall. 

Somehow he could not bring himself to take the next 
step at once ; he knew pretty well what his father’s 
feelings would be, and a parting is a very unpleasant cer- 
emony to one who feels that the regret is all on his own 
side. 

But it was no use putting it off any longer ; he resolved 
at last to go in and get it over, and opened the door ac- 
cordingly. How warm and comfortable the room looked 
— more comfortable than it had ever seemed to him before, 
even on the first day of the holidays ! 

And his father would be sitting there in a quarter of 
an hour’s time, just as he was now, while he himself 
would be lumbering along to the station through the 
dismal, raw fog ! 

How unspeakably delightful it must be, thought Dick 
enviously, to be grown up and never worried by the 
thoughts of school and lesson-books ; to be able to look 
forward to returning to the same comfortable house, and 
living the same easy life, day alter day, week after week, 
with no fear of a swiftly advancing Black Monday. 

Gloomy moralists might have informed him that we 
can not escape school by simply growing up, and that, 
even for those who contrive this and make a long holi- 
day of their lives, there comes a time when the days are 
grudgingly counted to a Blacker Monday than ever 
makes a schoolboy’s heart quake within him. 

But then Dick would never have believed them, and 
the moralists would only have wasted much excellent 
common sense upon him. 


BLACK HONDA K 


13 


Paul Bultitude’s face cleared as he saw his son come in. 
“ There you are, eh ! ” he said, with evident satisfaction, 
as he turned in his chair, intending to cut the scene as 
short as possible. “ So you’re off at last ? Well, holidays 
can’t last for ever — by a merciful decree of Providence, 
they don’t last quite for ever ! There, good-by, good-by, 
be a good boy this term, no more scrapes, mind. And 
now you’d better run away, and put on your coat — you’re 
keeping the cab waiting all this time.” 

“ No, I’m not,” said Dick, “ Boaler hasn’t gone to fetch 
one yet.” 

“ Not gone to fetch a cab yet ! ” cried Paul, with evi- 
dent alarm, “ why, God bless my soul, what’s the man 
thinking about ? You’ll lose your train ! I know you’ll 
lose the train, and there will be another day lost, after the 
extra week gone already through that snow ! I must see 
to this myself. Ring the bell, tell Boaler to start this in- 
stant — I insist on his fetching a cab this instant ! ” 

“ Well, it’s not my fault you know,” grumbled Dick, 
not considering so much anxiety at all flattering ; “ But 
Boaler has gone now. I just heard the gate clang ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” said his father, with more composure, “ and 
now,” he suggested, “ you’d better shake hands, and 
then go up and say good-by to your sister — you’ve no 
time to spare.” 

“ I’ve said good-by to them,” said Dick. Mayn’t I stay 
here till — till Boaler comes ? ” 

This request was due less to filial affection than a faint 
desire for desser t, which even his feelings could not alto- 
gether stifle. Mr. Bultitude granted it with a very bad 
grace. 

“ I suppose you can if you want to,” he said impatiently; 
“ only do one thing or the other — stay outside, or shut the 
door and come in, and sit down quietly. I can not sit in 
a thorough draught ! ” 

Dick obeyed, and applied himself to the dessert with 
rather an injured expression. 

Pault felt a greater sense of constraint and worry than 
ever ; the interview, as he had feared, seemed likely to 
last some time, and he felt that he ought to improve the 
occasion in some way, or at all events, make some obser- 


14 


VICE VERSA. 


vation. But, for all that, he had not the remotest idea 
what to say to this red-haired, solemn boy. who sat staring 
gloomily at him in the intervals of filling his mouth. The 
situation grew more embarrassing every moment. 

At last, as he felt himself likely to have more to say 
in reproof than on any other subject, he began with 
that. 

“ There’s one thing I want to talk to you about before 
you go,” he began, “ and that’s this. I had a most unsat- 
isfactory report of you this last term ; don’t let me have 
that again. Dr. Grimstone tells me — ah, I have his letter 
here — yes, he says (and just attend, instead of making 
yourself ill with preserved ginger) — he says, ‘ Your son 
has great natural capacity, and excellent abilities ; but I 
regret to say that, instead of applying himself as he might 
do, he misuses his advantages, and succeeds in setting a 
mischievous example to — if not actually misleading — his 
companions.’ That’s a pleasant account for a father to 
read ! Here am I, sending you to an expensive school, 
furnishing you with great natural capacity and excellent 
abilities, and — and — every other school requisite, and all 
you do is to misuse them ! It’s disgraceful ! And mis 
leading your companions, too ! Why, at your age, they 
ought to mislead you — No, I don’t mean that — but what I 
may tell you is, that I’ve written a very strong letter to Dr. 
Grimstone, saying what pain it gave me to hear you mis- 
behaved yourself ; and telling him, if he ever caught you 
setting an example of any sort, mind that, any sort, in the 
future — he was to, ah, to remember some of Solomon’s 
very sensible remarks on the subject. So I should 
strongly advise you to take care what you’re about in 
future, for your own sake ! ” 

This was not a very encouraging address, perhaps, but 
it did not seem to distress Dick to any extent ; he had 
heard very much the same sort of thing several times be- 
fore, and had been fully prepared for it then. 

He had been seeking distraction in almonds and 
raisins, but now they only choked instead of consoling 
him, and he gave them up and sat brooding silently over 
his hard lot instead, with a dull, blank dejection which 
those only who have gone through the same hing in their 


BLACK MONDAY. 


15 


boyhood will understand. To others, whose . school life 
has been one uncheckered course of excitement and suc- 
cess, it will be incomprehensible enough — and so much 
the better for them. 

He sat listening to the grim sphinx-clock on the black 
marble chimney-piece, as it remorselessly ticked away his 
last few moments of home-life, and he ingeniously set 
himself to crown his sorrow by reviving recollections of 
happier days. 

In one of the corners of the chimneyglass there was 
still a sprig of withered laurel left unforgotten, and his eye 
fell on it now with a grim satisfaction. He made his 
thoughts travel back to that delightful afternoon on 
Christmas Eve, whem they had all come home riotous 
through the brilliant streets, laden with purchases from the 
Baker Street Bazaar, and then had decorated the rooms 
with such free and careless gayety. 

And the Christmas dinner, too ! He had sat just where 
he was sitting now, with, ah! such a difference in every 
other respect — the time had not come then when the 
thought of “ only so many more weeks and days left ” had 
begun to intrude its grizzly shape, like the skull at an 
ancient feast. 

And yet he could distinctly recollect now, and with bit- 
ter remorse, that he had not enjoyed himself then as much 
as he ought to have done ; he even remembered an im- 
pious opinion of his that the proceedings were “ slow,” 
Slow ! with plenty to eat, and three (four, if he had only 
known it) more weeks of holiday before him ; with Boxing 
Day, and the brisk, exhilarating drive to the Crystal 
Palace immediately following, with all the rest of a season 
of license and varied joys to come, which he could hardly 
trust himself to look back upon now ! He must have 
been mad to think such a thing. 

Overhead, his sister Barbara was playing softly one of 
the airs from “ The Pirates ” (it was Frederick’s appeal to 
the Major-General’s daughter), and the music, freed from 
the serio-comic situation which it illustrates, had a tender- 
ness and pathos of its own which went to Dick’s heart 
and intensified his melancholy ! 

He had gone (in secret, for Mr. Bultitude disapproved 


1 6 


VICE VERSA. 


of such dissipations) to hear the opera in the holidays, 
and now the piano conjured the whole scene up for him 
again — there would be no more theatre-going for him for 
a very long time ! 

By this time Mr. Bultitude began to feel the silence be- 
coming once more impressive, and roused himself with a 
yawn. “ Heigho ! ” he said, “ Boaler’s an uncommonly 
long time fetching that cab ! ” 

Dick felt more injured than ever, and showed it by 
drawing what he intended for a moving sigh. 

Unfortunately it was misunderstood. 

“ I do wish, sir,” said Paul, testily, “ you would try to 
break yourself of that habit of breathing hard. The so- 
ciety of a grampus (for it’s no less) delights no one and 
offends many — including me — and for heaven’s sake, Dick, 
don’t kick the leg of the table in that way ; you know it 
simply maddens me. What do you do it foi ? Why can’t 
you learn to sit at table like a gentleman ?” 

Dick mumbled some apology, and then, having found 
his tongue and remembered his necessities, said, with a 
nervous catch in his voice, “ Oh, I say, papa, will you 
— can you let me have some pocket-money, please, to go 
back with ! ” 

Paul looked as if his son had petitioned for a latch-key. 

“ Pocket-money ! ” he repeated, “ why, you can’t want 
money. Didn’t your grandmother give you a sovereign as 
a Christmas-box ? And I gave you ten shillings myself ! ” 

“I do want it, though,” said Dick; “that’s all spent. 
And you know you have always given me money to take 
back.” 

“ If I do give you some, you’ll only go and spend it,” 
grumbled Mr. Bultitude, as if he considered money an 
object of art. 

“ I shan’t spend it all at once, and I shall want some 
to put into the plate on Sundays. We always have to put 
in the plate when it’s a collection. And there’s the cab 
to pay.” 

“ Boaler has orders to pay your cab — as you know well 
enough,” said Paul, “ but I suppose you must have some, 
though you cost me enough, heaven knows, without this, 
additional expense.” 


BLACK MONDAY. 


*7 


And at this he brought up a fistful of loose silver and 
gold from one of his trouser-pockets, and spread it delib- 
erately out on the table in front of him in shining rows. 

Dick’s eyes sparkled at the sight of so much wealth ; 
for a moment or two he almost forgot the pangs of 
approaching exile in the thought of the dignity and credit 
which a single one of those bright new sovereigns would 
procure for him. 

It would insure him surreptitious luxuries and open 
friendships as long as it lasted. Even Tipping, the head 
boy of the school, who had gone into tails, brought back 
no more, and besides, the money would bring him hand- 
somely out of certain pecuniary difficulties to which an 
unexpected act of parental authority had exposed him ; he 
could easily dispose of all claims with such a sum at 
command, and then his father could so easily spare it out 
of so much ! 

Meanwhile Mr. Bultitude, with great care and precis- 
ion, selected from the coins before him a florin, two shill- 
ings, and two sixpences, which he pushed across to his 
son, who looked at them with a disappointment he did 
not care to conceal. 

“ An uncommon liberal allowance for a young fellow 
like you,” Paul observed. “ Don’t buy any foolishness 
with it, and if toward the end of the term, you want a 
little more, and write an intelligible letter asking for it, 
and I think proper to let you have it — why, you’ll get it, 
you know.” 

Dick had not courage to ask for more, much as he 
longed to do so, so he put the money in his purse with 
very qualified expressions of gratitude. 

In his purse he seemed to find something which had 
escaped his memory, for he took out a small parcel and 
unfolded it with some hesitation. 

“ I nearly forgot,” he, said speaking with more anima- 
tion than he had yet done, “ I didn’t like to take it with- 
out asking you, but is this any use ? May I have it ? ” 

“ Eh ? ” said Paul, sharply, “ what’s that ? Something 
else — what is it you want now ? ” 

“ It’s only that stone Uncle Duke brought mamma 
2 


i8 


VICE VERSA. 


from India ; the thing, he said, they called a ‘ Pagoda 
stone,’ or something, out there.” 

“ Pagoda stone ? The boy means Garuda stone. I 
should like to know how you got hold of that ; you’ve 
been meddling in my drawers, now, a thing I will not put 
up with, as I’ve told you over and over again.” 

“No, I haven’t then,” said Dick; “ I found it in a tray 
in the drawing-room, and Barbara said, perhaps, if I asked 
you, you might let me have it, as she didn’t think it was 
any use to you.” 

“ Then Barbara had no right to say anything of the 
sort,” snapped Paul. 

“ But may I have it ? I may, mayn’t I ? ” persisted 
Dick. 

“ Have it ? certainly not. What could you possibly 
want with a thing like that. It’s ridiculous. Give it to 
me.” 

Dick handed it over reluctantly enough. It was not 
much to look at, quite an insignificant-looking little square 
tablet of grayish-green stone, pierced at one angle, and 
having on two of its faces faint traces of mysterious letters 
or symbols, which time had made very difficult to dis- 
tinguish. 

It looked harmless enough as Mr. Bultitude took it in 
his hand ; there was no kindly hand to hold him back, no 
warning voice to hint that there might possibly be sleeping 
within that small marble block the pent-up energy of long- 
forgotten Eastern necromancy, just as ready as ever to 
waken into action at the first words which had power to 
evoke it. 

There was no one ; but, even if there had been such a 
person, Paul was a sober, prosaic individual, who would 
probably have treated the warning as a piece of ridiculous 
superstition. 

As it was, no man could have put himself in a position 
of extreme peril with a more perfect unconsciousness of 
his danger. 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


19 


il 


CHAPTER II. 

A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


“ Magnaque muminibus vota exaudita malignis.” 

Mr. Bultitude put on his glasses to examine the stone 
more carefully, for it was some time since he had last 
seen or thought about it. Then he looked up and said 
once more, “ What use would a thing like this be to 
you ? ” 

Dick would have considered it a very valuable prize 
indeed ; he could have exhibited it to admiring friends — 
during lessons, of course, when it would prove a most 
agreeable distraction — he could have played with and 
fingered it incessantly ; invented astonishing legends of 
its powers and virtues ; and, at last, when he had grown 
tired of it, have bartered it for any more desirable article 
that might take his fancy. All these advantages were 
present to his mind in a vague, shifting form, but he 
could not find either courage or words to explain them. 

Consequently, he only said, awkwardly, “ Oh, I don’t 
know, I should like it.” 

“ Well, any way,” said Paul, “ you certainly won’t have 
it. It’s worth keeping, whatever it is, as the only thing 
your Uncle Marmaduke was ever known to give to any- 
body.” 

Marmaduke Paradine, Mr. Bultitude’s brother-in-law, 
was not a connection of which he had much reason to be 
particularly proud. One of those persons endowed with 
what are known as “ insinuating manners and address,” 
he had, after some futile attempts to enter the army, been 
sent out to Bombay as agent for a Manchester firm, and in 
thatcapacity had contrived to be mixed up in some more 
than shady transactions with rival exporters and native 
dealers up the country, which led to an unceremonious 
dismissal by his employers. 

He had brought home the stone from India as a pro- 
pitiatory token of remembrance, more portable and less 


20 


VICE VERSA. 


expensive than the lacquered cabinets, brasses, stuffs, 
and carved work which are expected from friends at such 
a distance, and he had been received with pardon and 
started once more, until certain other proceedings of his, 
shadier still, had obliged Paul to forbid him the house at 
Westbourne Terrace. 

Since then little had been heard of him, and the reports 
which reached Mr. Bultitude of his disreputable relative’s 
connection with the promotion of a series of companies of 
the kind affected by the widow and curate, and exposed 
in money articles and law courts, gave him no desire to 
renew the acquaintance. 

“ Isn’t it a talisman, though ? ” said Dick, rather unfortu- 
nately for any hopes he might have of pursuading his 
father to entrust him with the coveted treasure. 

“ I’m sure I can’t tell you,” yawned Paul ; “ how do 
you mean ? ” 

“ I don’t know, only Uncle Duke once said something 
about it. Barbara heard him tell mamma. I say, per- 
haps its like the one in Scott, and cures people of things, 
though I don’t think it’s that sort of talisman either, 
because I tried it once on my chilblains, and it wasn’t a 
bit of good. If you would only let me have it, perhaps I 
might find out, you know.” 

“You might,” said his father, dryly, apparently not 
much influenced by this inducement, “ but you won’t have 
the chance. If it has a secret I will find it out for 
myself (he little knew how literally he was to be taken at 
his word), and, by the way, there’s your cab at last ! ” 

There was a sound of wheels outside, and, as Dick 
heard them, he grew desperate in his extremity ; a wish 
he had long secretly cherished unspoken, without ever 
hoping for courage to give it words, rose to his lips now; 
he got up and moved timidly toward his father. 

“ Papa,” he said, “ there’s something I want to say so 
much before I go. Do let me ask you now.” 

“ Well, what is it ? ” said Paul. “ Make haste, you 
haven’t much time.” 

“ It’s this. I want you to — to let me leave Grimstone’s 
at the end of the term.” 

Paul stared at him, angry and incredulous. “Let you 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


21 


leave Dr. Grimstone’s (oblige me by giving him his full 
title when you speak of him),” he said slowly. “ Why, 
what do you mean ? It’s an excellent school — never saw 
a better expressed prospectus in my life. And my old 
friend Bangle, Sir Benjamin Bangle, who’s a member of 
the School Board, and ought to know something about 
schools, strongly recommended it — would have sent his 
own son there if he had not entered him at Eton. And 
when I pay for most of the extras for you, too. Dancing, 
by Gad, and meat for breakfast. I’m sure I don’t know 
what you would have ! ” 

“ I’d like to go to Marlborough, or Harrow, or some- 
where,” whimpered Dick; “ Jolland’s going to Harrow at 
Easter. (Jolland’s one of the fellows at Grimstone’s — 
Dr. Grimstone’s, I mean.) And what does old Bangle 
know about it ? He hasn’t got to go there himself ! And 
— and Grimstone’s jolly enough to fellow’s he likes, but 
he doesn’t like me — he’s always sitting on me for some- 
thing — and I hate some of the fellows there, and alto- 
gether it’s beastly. Do let me leave ! If you don’t want 
me to go to a public school, I — I could stop at home and 
have a private tutor — like Joe Twitterly ! ” 

“ It’s all ridiculous nonsense, I tell you,” said Paul an- 
grily, “ ridiculous nonsense ! And, once for all, I’ll put a 
stop to it. I donff approve of public schools for boys 
like you, and, what’s more, I can’t afford it. As for 
private tutors, that’s absurd ! So you will just make up 
your mind to stay at Crichton House as long as I 
think proper to keep you there, and there’s an end of 
that ! ” 

At this final blow to all his hopes, Dick began to sob in 
a subdued, hopeless kind of a way, which was more than y 
his father could bear. To do Paul justice, he had not 
meant to be quite so harsh when the boy was about to set 
out for school, and, a little ashamed of his irritation, he 
sought to justify his decision. 

He chose to do this by delivering a short homily on the 
advantages of school, by which he might lead Dick to look 
on the matter in the calm light of reason and common 
sense, and commonplaces on the subject began to rise to 


22 


VICE VERSA. 


the surface of his mind, from the rather muddy depths to 
which they had long since sunk. 

He began to give Dick the benefit of all this stagnant 
wisdom, with a feeling of surprise, as he went on, at his 
own powerful and original way of putting things. 

“ Now, yon know, it’s no use to cry like that,” he be- 
gan. “ It’s — ah, the usual thing for boys at school, I’m 
quite aware, to go about fancying they’re very ill-used, 
and miserable, and all the rest of it, just as if people in 
my position had their sons educated out of spite ! It’s 
one of those petty troubles all boys have to go through. 
And you mark my words, my boy, when they go out into 
the world, and have real trials to put up with, and grow 
old men, like me, why, they see what fools they’ve been, 
Dick ; they see what fools they’ve been. All the — hum, 
the innocent games and delights of boyhood, and that 
sort of thing, you know — come back to them — and then 
they look back to those hours passed at school as the hap- 
piest, ay, the very happiest time of their life ! ” 

“ Well,” said Dick, “ then I hope it won’t be the happi- 
est time in mine, that’s all ! And you may have been 
happy at the school you went to, perhaps, but I don’t be- 
lieve you would very much care about being a boy again 
like me, and going back to Grimstone’s ; you know you 
wouldn’t ! ” 

This put Paul on his mettle ; he had warmed well to 
his subject, and could not let this open challenge pass un- 
noticed — it gave him such an opening for a cheap and easy 
effect. 

He sank back in his chair and put the tips of his fin- 
gers together, smiling with a tolerent superiority. 

“ Perhaps you will believe me,” he said impressively, 
“ when I tell you, old as I am and much as you envy me, 
I only wish, at this very moment, I could be a boy again, 
like you. Going back to school wouldn’t make me un- 
happy, I can tell you.” 

It is so fatally easy to say more than we mean in the 
desire to make as strong an impression as possible. Well 
for most of us that — more fortunate than Mr. Bultitude — 
we can generally do so without fear of being taken too 
strictly at our word. 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. , '2 3 

\ 

As he spoke these unlucky words, he felt a slight shiver 
followed by a curious shrinking sensation all over him. It 
X was odd, too, but the arm-chair in which he sat seemed to 
have grown so much bigger all at once. He felt a pass- 
ing surprise, but concluded it must be fancy, and went on 
as comfortable as before. 

“ I should like it, my boy, but what’s the good of wish- 
ing ? I only mention it to prove that I was not speaking 
at random. I’m an old man and you’re a youpg boy, and, 
that being so, why, of course — What the deuce are you 
giggling about ? ” 

For Dick, after some seconds of half-frightened, open- 
mouthed staring, had suddenly burst into a violent fit of 
almost hysterical giggling, which he seemed trying vainly 
to suppress. 

/ This naturally annoyed Mr. Bultitude, and he went on 
* with immense dignity, “ I, ah, I’m not aware that I’ve been 
saying anything particularly ridiculous. You seem to be 
amused ? ’ 

“ Don’t ! ” gasped Dick. “ It — it isn’t anything you’re 
saying — it’s, it’s — oh, can’t you feel any difference ? ” 

“ The sooner you go back to school the better ! ” said 
Paul, angrily. “ I wash my hands of you. When I do 
take the trouble -to give you any advice, it’s received with 
ridicule. You always were an ill-mannered little cub. 
I’ve had quite enough of this. Leave the room, sir ! ” 

The wheels must have belonged to some other cab, for 
none had stopped at the pavement as yet ; but Mr. Bul- 
titude was justly indignant and could stand the interview 
no longer. Dick, however, made no attempt to move ; 
he remained there, choking and shaking with laughter, 
while his father sat stiffly on his chair, trying to ignore 
his son’s unmannerly conduct, but only partially succeed- 
ing. 

No one can calmly endure watching other people laugh- 
ing at him like idiots, while he is left perfectly incapa- 
ble of guessing what he has said or done to amuse them. 
Even when this is known, it requires a peculiarly keen 
sense of humor to see the point of a joke against one’s 
self. 

At last his patience gave out, and he said, coldly, “ Now, 


24 


VICE VERSA . 


perhaps, if you are quite yourself again, you will be good 
enough to let me know what the joke is ? ” 

Dick, looking flushed and half ashamed, tried again <1 
and again to speak, but each time the attempt was too 
much for him. After a time he did succeed, but his voice 
was hoarse and shaken with laughter as he spoke, x 
“ Haven’t you found it out yet ? Go and look at yourself 
in the glass — it will make you roar.” 

There was the usual narrow sheet of plate glass at the j 
back of the sideboard, and to this Mr. Bultitude walked, 
almost under protest, and with a cold dignity. It occurred 
to him that he might have a smudge on his face or some- 
thing wrong with his collar and tie — something to account 
to some extent for his son’s frivolous and insulting be- 
havior. No suspicion of the terrible truth crossed his j 
mind as yet. j 

Meanwhile Dick was looking on eagerly with a chuckle 
of anticipation, as one who watches the dawning apprecia- 
tion of an excellent joke. 

But no sooner had Paul met the reflection in the glass 
than he started back in incredulous horror — then returned, 
and stared again and again. 

Surely, surely, this could not be he ! 

He had expected to see his own familiar portly bow- 
windowed presence there — but somehow, look as he would, 
the mirror insisted upon reflecting the figure of his son 
Dick. Could he possibly have become invisible and have 
lost the power of casting a reflection — or how was it that 
Dick, and only Dick was to be seen there ? 

How was it, too, when he looked round, there was the 
boy still sitting there ? It could not be Dick, evidently, 
that he saw in the glass. Besides, the reflection opposite 
him moved when he moved, returned when he returned, 
copied his every gesture ! 

He turned round upon his son with angry and yet hope- 
ful suspicion. “ You’ve been playing some of your infer- 
nal tricks with this mirror, sir,” he cried fiercely. “ What 
have you done to it ? ” 

“ Done ! how could I do anything to it ? As if you 
didn’t know that ! ” 

“ Then,” stammered Paul, determined to know the worst, 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 25 

“ then do you, do you mean to tell me you can see any — 
alteration in me ? Tell me the truth now ! ” 

^ “ I should just think I could ! ” said Dick, emphatically. 

“ It’s very queer, but just look here,” and he came up to 
the sideboard and placed himself by the side of his hor- 
rified father. “ Why,” he said, with another giggle, “ we’re 
— he-he — as like as two peas ! ” 

They were indeed ; the glass reflected now two small 
boys, each with chubby cheeks and fair hair, both dressed, 
too, exactly alike, in Eton Jackets and broad white col- 
lars ; the only difference to be seen between them was 
that, while one face wore an expression of intense glee 
and satisfaction, the other — the one which Mr. Bulti- 
tude was beginning to fear must belong to him — was 
lengthened and drawn with dismay and bewilderment. 

L “ Dick,” said Paul, faintly “ what is all this ? Who has 
f been, been taking these liberties with me ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” protested Dick. “ It wasn’t 
me. I believe you did it all yourself.” 

“ Did it all myself ! ” repeated Paul, indignantly. “ Is 
; it likely I should ? It’s some trickery, I tell you, some 
I villainous plot. The worst of it is,” he added plaintively, 
“ I don’t understand who I’m supposed to be now. Dick, 
who am I ? ” 

“ You can’t be me,” said Dick, authoritatively, “because 
here I am, you know. And you’re not yourself, that’s very 
plain. You must be somebody, I suppose,” he added, 
dubiously. 

“ Of course I am. What do you mean ? ” said Paul, 
angrily. “ Never mind who I am. I feel just the same as 
I always did. Tell me when you first began to notice any 
change. Could you see it coming on at all, eh ? ” 

“It was all at once, just as you were talking about 
school and all that. You said you only wished — Why, of 
course ; look here, it must be the stone that did it ! ” 

“ Stone ! what stone ? ” said Paul. “ I don’t know what 
you’re talking about.” 

“ Yes, you do — the Garuda stone ! You’ve got it in 
your hand still. Don’t you see ? It’s a real talisman, 
after all ! How jolly ! ” 

“ I didn’t do anything to set it off ; and besides, oh, it’s 


26 


VICE VERSA. 


perfectly absurd ! How can there be such things as talis- 
mans nowadays, eh ? Tell me that.’’ 

“ Well, something’s happened to you, hasn’t it ? And 
it must have been done somehow,” argued Dick. 

“ I was holding the confounded thing, certainly,” said 
Paul ; “ here it is. But what could I have said to start it ? 
What has it done this to me for ? ” 

“ I know,” cried Dick. “ Don’t you remember ? You 
said you wished you were a boy again, like me. So you 
are, you see, exactly like me ! What a lark it is, isn’t it ? 
But, I say, you can’t go up to business like that, you know, 
can you ? I tell you what, you’d better come to Grim- 
stone’s with me now, and see how you like it. I shouldn’t 
mind so much if you came too. Grimstone’s face would 
be splendid when he saw two of us. Do come ! ” 

“ That’s ridiculous nonsense you’re talking,” said Paul, 
“ and you know it. What should I do at school at my 
age ? I tell you I’m same as ever inside, though I may 
have shrunk into a miserable little rascally boy to look at. 
And it’s simply an abominable nuisance, Dick, that’s what 
it is ! Why on earth couldn’t you let the stone alone ? 
Just see what mischief you’ve done by meddling now — put 
me to all this inconvenience ! ” 

“You shouldn’t have wished,” said Dick. 

“ Wished ! ” echoed Mr. Bultitude. “ Why, to be sure,” 
he said with a gleam of returning hopefulness ; “ of course, 
I never thought of that. The thing’s a wishing stone ; it 
must be ! You have to hold it, I suppose, and then say 
what you wish aloud, and there you are. If that’s the case, 
I can soon put it all right by simply wishing myself back 
again. I, I shall have a good laugh at all this by-and-by — 
I know I shall ! ” 

He took the stone, and got into a corner by himself, 
where he began repeating the words, “ I wish I was back 
again,” “ I wish I was the man I was five minutes ago,” 
“ I wish all this had not happened,” and so on, until he 
was very exhausted and red in the face. He tried with 
the stone held in his left hand, as well as his right, sitting 
and standings under all the various conditions he could 
think of, but absolutely nothing came of it ; he was just 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SC E NE. 27 

is exasperatingly boyish and youthful as ever at the end 
of it. 

“ I don’t like this,” he said at last, giving it up with a 
rather crestfallen air. “ It seems to me that this diabolical 
invention has got out of order somehow ; I can’t make 
it work any more ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Dick, who had shown throughout 
the most unsympathetic cheerfulness, “ perhaps it’^s one of 
those talismans that only give you one wish, and you’ve 
had it, you know ? ” 

“ Then it’s all over ! ” groaned Paul. “ What the deuce 
am I to do ? What shall I do ? Suggest something, for 
heaven’s sake ; don’t stand cackling there in that unfeel- 
ing manner. Can’t you see what a terrible mess I’ve got 
into ? Suppose — only suppose your sister or one of the 
servants were to come in, and see me like this ! ” 

This suggestion simply enchanted Dick. “Let’s have 
them all up,” he laughed ; “ it would be such fun ! How 
they will laugh when we tell them ! ” And he rushed to 
the bell. 

“ Touch that bell if you dare ! ” screamed Paul, “ I 
won’t be seen in this condition by anybody ! What on 
earth could have induced that scoundrelly uncle of yours 
to bring such a horrible thing as this over I can’t imag- 
ine ! I never heard of such a situation as this in my life. 
I can’t stay like this, you know — it’s not to be thought of ! 
I — I wonder whether it would be any use to send over to 
Dr. Bustard and ask him to step in ; he might give me 
something to bring me round. But then the whole neigh- 
borhood would hear about it ! If I don’t see my way out 
of this soon, I shall go raving mad ! ” 

And he paced restlessly up and down the room with his 
brain on fire. 

All at once, as he became able to think more coherently, 
there occurred to him a chance, slender and desperate 
enough, but still a chance, of escaping even yet the conse- 
quences of his folly. 

He was forced to conclude that, however improbable 
and fantastic it might appear in this rationalistic age, there 
must be some hidden power in this Garuda stone which 
had put him in his present very unpleasant position. It 


28 


VICE VERSA. 


was plain too that the virtues of the talisman refused to 
exert themselves any more at his bidding. 

But it did not follow that in another’s hands the spell 
would remain as powerless. At all events, it was an ex- 
periment well worth the trial, and he lost no time in ex- 
plaining the notion to Dick, who, by the sparkle in his 
eyes and suppressed excitement in his manner, seemed to 
think there might be something in it. 

“ I may as well try,” he said ; “ give it to me.” 

“ Take it, my dear boy,” said Paul, with a paternal air 
that sorely tried Dick’s recovered gravity, it contrasted so 
absurdly with his altered appearance. “ Take it, and wish 
your old father himself again ! ” 

Dick took it, and held it thoughtfully for some moments, 
while Paul waited in nervous impatience. “ Isn’t it any 
use ? ” he said, dolefully, at last, as nothing happened. 

“ I don’t know,” said Dick calmly, “ I haven’t wished 
yet.” 

“ Then do so at once,” said Paul fussily, “ do so at once. 
There’s no time to waste, every moment is of importance 
— your cab will be here directly. Although, although I’m 
altered in this ridiculous way, I hope I still retain my au- 
thority as a father, and as a father, by Gad, I expect you 
to obey me, sir ! ” 

“ Oh, all right,” said Dick, indifferently, “ you may keep 
the authority if you like.” 

“ Then do what I tell you. Can’t you see how urgent 
it is that a scandal like this shouldn’t get about ? I should 
be the laughing-stock of the city. Not a soul must ever 
guess that such a thing has happened. You must see that 
yourself.” 

“ Yes,” said Dick, who all this time was sitting on a 
corner of the table, swinging his legs, “ I see that. It will 
be all right. I’m going to wish in a minute, and no one 
will guess there has been anything the matter.” 

“ That’s a good boy ! ” said Paul, much relieved, “ I 
know your heart is in the right place — only do make 
haste.” 

“ I suppose,” Dick asked, “ when you are yourself 
again, things would go on just as usual ? ” 

“ I — I hope so.” 


29 


' 

A GRAND TRANSFORMA TION SCENE. 

“ I mean you will go on sitting here, and I shall go off 
to Grimstone’s ? ” 

“ Of course, of course,” said Paul ; “ don’t ask so many 
questions. I’m sure you quite understand what has to be 
done, so get on. We might be found like this any min- 
ute.” 

“ That settles it,” said Dick, “ any fellow would do it 
after that.” 

“ Yes, yes, but you’re so slow about it ! ” 

“ Don’t be in a hurry,” said Dick, “you mayn’t like it 
after all when I’ve done it. 

“ Done what ? ” asked Mr. Bultitude, sharply, struck by 
something sinister and peculiar in the boy’s manner. 

“■Well, I don’t mind telling you,” said Dick, “it’s fairer. 
You see you wished to be a. boy just like me, didn’t you ? ” 

“ I didn’t mean it,” protested Paul. 

“ Ah, you couldn’t expect a stone to know that ; at an}’ 
rate, it made you into a boy like me directly. Now, if I wish 
myself a man just like you were ten minutes ago, before you 
took the stone, that will put things all right again won’t it? ” 

“ Is the boy mad ? ” cried Paul horrified at this pro- 
posal. “ Why, why, that would be worse than ever.” 

“ I don’t see that,” objected Dick, stubbornly. “ No 
one would know anything about it then.” 

“ But, you little blockhead, can’t I make you under- 
stand ? It wouldn’t do at all. We should both of us be 
wrong then — each with the other’s personal appearance.” 

“ Well,” said Dick blandly, “ I shouldn’t mind that.” 

“ But I should — I mind very much. I object strongly 
to such a — such a preposterous arrangement. And 
what’s more, I won’t have it. Do you hear, I forbid 
you to think of any such thing. Give me back that stone. 

I can’t trust you with it after this.” 

“ I can’t help it,” said Dick doggedly. “ You’ve had 
your wish, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t have mine. I 
mean to have it, too.” 

“ Why, you unnatural little rascal ! ” cried the justly 
enraged father, “ do you mean to defy me ? I tell you I 
will have that stone ! Give it up this instant ! ” and he 
made a movement toward his son, as if he meant to re- 
cover the talisman by main force. 


VICE VERSA. 


3 ° 

But Dick was too quick for him. Slipping off the table 
with great agility, he planted himself firmly on the hearth- 
rug, with the hand that held the stone clenched behind his 
back, and the other raised in self-defense. 

“ I’d much rather you wouldn’t make me hit you, you 
know,” he said, “ because in spite of what’s happened, 
you’re still my father, I suppose. But, if you interfere 
with me before I’ve done with this stone, I’m afraid I 
shall have to punch your head.” 

Mr. Bultitude retreated a few steps apprehensively, feel- 
ing himself no match for his son, except in size and gen- 
eral appearance ; and for some moments of really frightful 
intensity they stood panting on the hearth-rug, each cau- 
tiously watching the other, on his guard against stratagem 
and surprise. 

It was one of those painful domestic scenes which are 
fortunately rare between father and son. 

Overhead, the latest rollicking French polka was being 
rattled out, with a savage irony of which pianos, even by 
the best makers, can at times be capable. 

Suddenly Dick drew himself up. “ Stand out of my 
way ! ” he cried excitedly, “ I am going to do it. I wish I 
was a man like you were just now ! ” 

And as he spoke, Mr. Bultitude had the bitterness of 
seeing his unscrupulous son swell out like the frog in the 
fable, till he stood there before him the exact duplicate of 
what Paul had so lately been ! 

The transformed Dick began to skip and dance round 
the room in high glee, with as much agility as his increas- 
ed bulk would allow. “ It’s all right, you see,” he said. 
“ The old stone’s as good as ever. You can’t say any one 
would ever know to look at us.” 

And then he threw himself panting into a chair, and be- 
gan to laugh excitedly at the success of his unprincipled 
manoeuvre. 

As for Paul, he was perfectly furious at having been so 
outwitted and overreached. It was a long time before he 
could command his voice sufficiently to say, savagely: 
“ Well, you’ve had your way, and a pretty mess you’ve 
made of it. We’re both of us in false positions now. 1 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 31 

hope you’re satisfied, I’m sure. Do you think you’ll care 
about going back to Crichton House in that state ? ” 

“ No,” said Dick, very decidedly ; “ I’m quite sure I 
shouldn’t.” 

“ Well, I can’t help it. You’ve brought it on yourself; 
and, provided the doctor sees no objection to take you 
back as you are and receive you as one of his pupils, I 
shall most certainly send you there.” 

Paul did not really mean this, he only meant to frighten 
him ; for he still trusted that, by letting Boaler into the 
secret, the charm might be set in motion once more, and 
the difficulty comfortably overcome. But his threat had 
a most unfortunate effect upon Dick ; it hardened him to 
take a course he might otherwise have shrunk from. 

“ Oh,” he said, “ you’re going to do that ? But doesn’t 
it strike you that things are rather altered with us now ? ” 

“ They are to a certain extent, of course,” said Paul, 
“ through my folly and your wicked cunning ; but a word 
or two of explanation from me — ” 

“ You’ll find it will take more explanation than you 
think,” said Dick ; but, of course, you can try, if you 
think it worth while — when you get to Grimstone’s.” 

“ When I — I don’t understand. When I — What did 
you^say ? ” gasped Paul. 

“ Why, you see,” exclaimed Dick, “ it would never have 
done for us both to go back ; the chaps would have hum- 
bugged us so, and, as I hate the place, and you seem so 
fond of being a boy and going back to school and that, I 
thought perhaps it would be best for you to go and see how 
you liked if ! ” 

“ I never will ! I’ll not stir from this room ! I dare 
you to try to move me ! ” cried Paul. And just then there 
was the sound of wheels outside once more. They stop- 
ped before the house, and the bell rang sharply — the long 
expected cab had come at last. 

“ You’ve no time to lose,” said Dick, “ get your coat 
on.” 

Mr. Bultitude tried to treat the affair as a joke. He 
laughed a ghastly little laugh. 

“ Ha ! ha ! you’ve fairly caught your poor old father this 
time ; you’ve proved him in the wrong. I admit I said 


32 


VICE VERSA. 


more than I exactly meant. But that’s enough. Don’t 
drive a good joke too far ; shake hands, and let us see if 
we can’t find a way out of this ! ” 

But Dick only warmed his coat-tails at the fire as he 
said, with a very ungenerous reminiscence of his father’s 
manner; “ You are going back to an excellent establish- 
ment, where you will enjoy all the comforts of home — I 
can particularly recommend the stickjaw ; look out for it 
on Tuesdays and Fridays. You will once more take part 
in the games and lessons of happy boyhood. (Did you 
ever play ‘ chevy ’ when you were a boy before? You’ll 
enjoy chevy.) And you will find your companions easy 
enough to get on with, if you don’t go giving yourself 
airs ; they won’t stand airs. Now good-bye, my boy, and 
bless you ! ” 

Paul stood staring stupidly at this outrageous assump- 
tion ; he could scarcely believe even yet that it was meant 
in cruel earnest. Before he could answer, the door opened 
and Boaler appeared. 

“ Had a deal of trouble to find a keb, sir, on a night 
like this,” he said to the false Dick, “ but the luggage is 
all on top, and the man says there is plenty of time 
stiil.” 

“ Good-bye, then, my boy,” said Dick, with well-assumed 
tenderness, but a rather dangerous light in his eye. “ Re- 
member, I expect you to work.” 

Paul turned indignantly from him to the butler ; he, at 
least, would stand by him. Boaler would not see a mas- 
ter who had always been fair, if not indulgent, to him 
driven from his home in this cold-blooded manner ! 

He made two or three attempts to speak, for his brain 
whirled so with scathing, burning things to say. He 
would expose the fraud then and there, and defy the im- 
pudent usurper ; he would warn every one against this 
spurious, pinchbeck imitation of himself. The whole 
household should be summoned and called upon to judge 
between the two ! 

No doubt, if he had had enough self-command to do all 
this effectually, while Dick had as yet not had the time to 
thoroughly adapt himself to his altered circumstances, he 


IN THE TOILS 


33 


might have turned the situation at the outset, and spared 
himself some very painful experiences. 

But it is very often precisely those words which are the 
most vitally important to be said that refuse to pass our 
lips on a sudden emergency. We feel all the necessity of 
saying something at once but the necessary words unac- 
countably desert us at the critical moment. 

Mr. Bultitude felt himself in this unfortunate position. 
He made more wild efforts to explain, but the sense of 
his danger only petrified his mind instead of stimulating 
it. Then he was spared further conflict. A dark mist 
rose before his eyes ; the walls of the room receded into 
infinite space ; and, with a loud singing in his ears, he fell, 
and seemed to himself to be sinking down, down, through 
the earth to the very crust of the antipodes. Then the 
blackness closed over him — and he knew no more. 


CHAPTER III. 

IN THE TOILS. 

“ I beseech you let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a rev- 
erend estimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a head.” — 

Merchant of Venice , Act iv. 

When Mr. Bultitude recovered his senses, which was 
not for a considerable time, he found that he was being 
jolted along through a broad, well-lit thoroughfare, in a 
musty four-wheeler. 

His head was by no means clear yet, and for some min- 
utes he could hardly be said to think at all ; he merely 
lay back dreamily listening to the hard, grinding jar of the 
cab windows vibrating in their grooves. 

His first distinct sensation was a vague wonder what 
Barbara might be intending to give him for dinner, for, 
oddly enough, he felt far from hungry, and was con- 
scious that his palate would require the adroitest witch- 
ing. 

With the thought of dinner his dining-room was almost 
inseparably associated, and then, with an instant rush of 
recollection, the whole scene there with the Garud& 

1 


34 


VICE VERSA. 


stone surged into his brain. He shuddered as he did 
so; it had all been so real, so hideously vivid and 
coherent throughout. But all unpleasant impressions 
soon yielded to the delicious luxury of his present 
security. 

As his last conscious moment had been passed in his 
own dining-room, the fact that he opened his eyes in a 
cab, instead of confirming his worst fears, actually helped 
to restore the unfortunate old gentleman’s serenity ; for 
he frequently drove home from the city in this manner, 
and believed himself now, instead of being, as was ac- 
tually the case, in that marvellous region of cheap pho- 
tography, rocking-horses, mild stone lions and wheels 
and ladders — the Euston Road — to be bowling along Hol- 
born. 

Now that he was thoroughly awake, he found positive 
amusement in going over each successive incident of his 
night-mare experience with the talisman, and smiling at 
the tricks his imagination had played him. 

“ I wonder now how the dickens I came to dream such 
outrageous nonsense ! ” he said to himself, for even his 
dreams were, as a rule, within the bounds of probability. 
But he was not long in tracing it to the deviled kidneys 
he had had at the club for lunch, and some curious old 
brown sherry Robinson had given him afterward at his 
office. 

“ Gad, what a shock the thing has given me ! ” he 
thought. “ I can hardly shake off the feeling even 
now.” 

As a rule, after waking up on the verge of a fearful 
crisis, the effect of the horror fades swiftly away, as one 
detail after another evades a memory which is never too 
anxious to retain them, and each moment brings a deeper 
sense of relief and self-congratulation. 

But in Paul s case, curiously enough, as he could not 
help thinking, the more completely roused he became, the 
greater grew his uneasiness. 

Perhaps the first indication of the truth was suggested 
to him by a lurking suspicion — which he tried to dismiss 
as mere fancy — that he filled rather less of the cab than 
he had always been accustomed to do. 


IN THE TOILS. 


35 


To reassure himself he set his thoughts to review all 
the proceedings of that day, feeling that, if he could 
satisfactorily account for the time up to his taking the 
cab, that would be conclusive as to the unreality of any- 
thing that appeared to have happened later in his own 
house. He got on well enough till he came to the 
hour at which he had left the office, and then, search his 
memory as he would, he could not remember hailing any 
cab ! 

! Could it be another delusion, too, or was it the fact 
that he had found himself much pressed for time and had 
come home by the Underground to Praed Street? It 
must have been the day before, but that was Sunday. 
Saturday, then ? But the recollection seemed too recent 
and fresh ; and besides, on Saturday he had left at two, 
and had taken Barbara to see Messrs. Maskelyne and 
Cooke’s performance. 

Slowly, insidiously, but with irresistible force, the con- 
viction crept upon him that he had dined, and dined 
well. 

“ If I have dined already,” he told himself, “ I can’t 
be going home to dinner ; and, if I am not going home to 
dinner, what — what am I doing in this cab ? ” 

The bare idea that something might be wrong with him 
after all made him impatient to put an end to all suspense. 
He must knock this scotched nightmare once for all on 
the head by a deliberate appeal to his senses. 

The cab had passed the lighted shops now, and was 
driving between squares and private houses, so that Mr. 
Bultitude had to wait until the sickly rays of a street lamp 
glanced into the cab for a moment, and, as they did so, 
he put his feet up on the opposite seat and examined his 
boots and trousers with breathless eagerness. 

It was not to be denied ; they were not his ordinary 
boots, nor did he ever wear such trousers as he saw above 
them ! Always a careful and punctiliously neat old gen- 
tleman, he was more than commonly exacting concerning 
the make and polish of his boots and the set of his 
trousers. 

These boots were clumsy, square-toed, and thick-soled ; 
one was even patched on the side. The trousers were 


3<5 


VICE VERSA. 


heavy and rough, of the kind advertised as “ wear- 
resisting fabrics, suitable for youths at school,” frayed 
at the ends, and shiny — shamefully shiny — about the 
knees ! 

In hot despair he rapidly passed his hands over his 
person. It felt unusually small and slim, Mr. Bultitude 
being endowed with what is euphemistically termed a 
“ presence,” and it was with an agony rarely felt at such a 
discovery that he realized that, for the first time for more 
than twenty years, he actually had a waist. 

Then, as a last resource, he took off his hat and felt for 
the broad, smooth, egg-like surface, garnished by scanty 
side patches of thin hair, which he knew he ought to 
find. 

It was gone — hidden under a crop of thick, close-curling 
locks ! 

This last disappointment completely overcame him ; he 
had a kind of short fit in the cab as the bitter truth was 
brought home to him unmistakably. 

Yes, this was no dream of a distempered digestion, but 
sober reality. The whole of that horrible scene in the 
dining-room had really taken place ; and now he, Paul 
Bultitude, the widely respected merchant of Mincing Lane, 
a man of means and position, was being ignominiously 
packed off to school as if he were actually the schoolboy 
some hideous juggle had made him appear ! 

It was only with a violent effort that he could succeed 
in commanding his thoughts sufficiently to decide on some 
immediate action. “ I must be cool,” he kept muttering 
to himself, with shaking lips, “ quite cool and collected. 
Everything will depend on that now ! ” 

It was some comfort to him in this extremity to recog- 
nize on the box the well-known broad back of Clegg, a 
cabman who stabled his two horses in some mews near 
Praed Street, and whom he had been accustomed to pat- 
ronize in bad weather for several years. 

Clegg would know him in spite of his ridiculous trans- 
formation. 

His idea was to stop the cab and turn round and drive 
home again, when they would find that he was not to be 
got rid of again quite so easily. If Dick imagined he 


IN THE TOILS. 


37 


meant to put up tamely with this kind of treatment he was 
vastly mistaken ; he would return home boldly and claim 
his rights ! 

No reasonable person could be perverse enough to 
doubt his identity when once matters came to the proof ; 
though at first, of course, he might find a difficulty in es- 
tablishing it. His children, his clerks, and his servants 
would soon get used to his appearance, and would learn 
to look below the mere surface, and then there was always 
the possibility of putting everything right by means of the 
magic stone. 

“ I won’t lose a minute ! ” he said aloud ; and, letting 
down the window, leaned out and shouted “ Stop ! ” till he 
was hoarse. 

But Clegg either could not or would not hear ; he drove 
on at full speed, a faster rate of progress than that 
adopted by most drivers of four-wheeled cabs being one of 
his chief recommendations. 

They were now passing Euston. It was a muggy, 
slushy night, with a thin, brown fog wreathing the houses, 
and fading away above their tops into a dull, slate-blue 
sky. The wet street looked like a black canal ; the 
blurred forms, less like vehicles that nondescript boats, 
moving over its inky surface, were indistinctly reflected 
therein ; the gas-lights flared redly through the murky 
haze. It was not a pleasant evening in which to be out of 
doors. 

Paul would have opened the cab-door and jumped out 
had he dared, but his nerve failed him, and, indeed, con- 
sidering the speed of the cab, the leap would have been 
dangerous to a far more active individual. So he was 
forced to wait resignedly until the station should be reached, 
when he determined to make Clegg understand his pur- 
pose with as little loss of time as possible. 

“ I must pay him something extra,” he thought ; “ I’ll 
give him a sovereign to take me back.” And he searched 
his pockets for the loose coin he usually carried about 
with him in such abundance ; there was no gold in any of 
them. 

He found, however, a variety of minor and less negotia- 
ble articles, which he fished out one by one from unknown 


VICE FEES A. 


3 s 

depths — a curious collection. There were a stumpy Ger- 
man-silver pencil case, a broken prism from a crystal 
chandelier, a gilded Jew’s harp, a little book in which the 
leaves, on being turned briskly, gave a semblance of 
motion to the sails of a black windmill drawn therein, a 
broken tin soldier, some Hong-Kong coppers with holes 
in them, and a quantity of little cogged wheels from the 
inside of a watch ; while a further search was rewarded by 
an irregular lump of toffee imperfectly infolded in sticky 
brown paper. 

He threw the whole of these treasures out of the window 
with indescribable disgust, and, feeling something like a 
purse in a side-pocket, opened it eagerly. 

It held five shillings exactly, the coins corresponding 
to those he had pushed across to his son such a little 
while ago ! It did not seem to him quite such a magnifi- 
cent sum now as it had done then ; he had shifted his 
point of view. 

It was too clear that the stone must have carried out 
his thoughtless wish with scrupulous and conscientious 
exactness in every detail. He had wanted, or said he 
wanted, to be a boy again like Dick, and accordingly he 
had become a perfect duplicate, even to the contents 
of the pockets. Evidently nothing on the face of things 
showed the slightest difference. Yet — and here lay the 
sting of the metamorphosis — he was conscious under it 
all of being his old original self, in utter discordance 
with the youthful form in which he was an unwilling 
prisoner. 

By this time the cab had driven up the sharp incline, 
and under the high pointed archway of St. Pancras ter- 
minus, and now drew up with a jerk against the steps 
leading to the booking-office. 

Paul sprang out at once in a violent passion. “ Here, 
you, Clegg ! ” he said, “ why the devil didn’t you pull up 
when I told you, eh ? ” 

Clegg was a burly, red-faced man, with a husky voice 
and a general manner which conveyed the impression that 
he regarded teetotalism, as a principle, with something 
more than disapproval. 

“ Why didn’t I pull up ? ” he said, bending stiffly down 


IN THE TOILS. 


39 


from his box. “ Cause I didn’t want to lose a good cus- 
tomer, that’s why I didn’t pull up ! ” 

“ Do you mean to say you don’t know me ? ” 

“ Know yer ? ” said Clegg, with an approach to senti- 
ment : “ I’ve knowed yer when you was a babby in frocks. 
I’ve knowed yer fust nuss (and a fine young woman she 
were till she took to drinking, as has been the ruin of 
many). I’ve knowed yer in Infancy’s hour and in yer 
byhood’s bloom ! I’ve druv yer to this ’ere werry station 
twice afore. Know yer ! ” 

Paul saw the uselessness of arguing with him. “ Then, 
ah — drive me back at once. Let those boxes alone,. 
I — I’ve important business at home which I’d forgotten.” 

Clegg gave a vinous wink. “ Lor, yer at it agin,” he 
said, with admiration. “ What a artful young gent it is ! 
But it aint what yer may call good enough, so to speak, it 
aint. Clegg don’t do that no more ! ” 

“ Don’t do what ? ” asked Paul. 

“ Don’t drive no young gents as is a bein’ sent to school 
back agin into their family’s bosims,” said Clegg, senten- 
tiously. “You was took ill sudden in my cab the larst 
time. Offal bad you was, to be sure, to hear ye, and I 
druv’ yer back ; and I never got no return fare, I didn’t, 
and yer par he made hisself downright nasty over it, said 
as if it occurred again he shouldn’t employ me no more. I 
durstn’t go and offend yer par ; he’s a good customer to 
me, he is.” 

“ I’ll give you a sovereign to do it,” said Paul. 

“ If yer wouldn’t tell no tales, I might put yer down 
at the corner, p’raps,” said Clegg, hesitating, to Paul’s joy ; 
“ not as it ain’t cheap at that, but let’s see yer suffering 
fust. Why,” he cried with lofty contempt as he saw from 
Paul’s face that the coin was not producible, “ y’aint got 
no suffering ! Garn away, and don’t try to tempt a pore 
cabby as has a livin’ to make ! What d’ye think of this, 
porter, now ? ’Ere’s a young gent a tryin’ to back out o’ 
going to school when he ought to be glad and thankful as 
he’s receivin’ the blessin’s of a good eddication. Look at 
me. I’m a ’ard workin’-man, I am. I ain’t ’ad no eddi- 
cation. The kids, they’re a learnin’ French, and free’and 
drorin, and the bones on a skellington at the Board School, 


40 


VICE VERSA . 


and I pays my coppers down every week cheerful. And 
why, porter ? Why, young master ? ’Cause I knows the 
vally on it ! But when I sees a real young gent a des- 
pisin’ of the oppertoonities as a bountiful Providence and 
a excellent par has ’eaped on his ’ed, it — it makes me 
sick, it inspires Clegg with a pity and a contemp’ for such 
ingratitood, which he cares not for to ’ide from public 
voo ! ” 

Clegg delivered this harangue with much gesture and 
in a loud tone, which greatly edified the porters and 
disgusted Mr. Bultitude. 

“ Go away,” said the latter, “that's enough. You’re 
drunk ! ” 

“ Drunk ! ” bellowed the outraged Clegg, rising on the 
box in his wrath. “ ’Ear that. ’Ark at this ’ere young 
cock sparrer as tells a fam’ly man like Clegg as he’s 
drunk ! Drunk, after drivin’ his par in this ’ere werry 
cab through frost and fine fifteen year or more. I wonder 
yer don’t say the old ’orse is drunk ; you’ll be sayin’ that 
next ! Drunk ! oh, cert’nly, by all means. Never you 
darken my cab doors no more. I shall take and tell 
your par, I shall. Drunk, indeed ! A ill-conditioned 
young wiper as ever I see. Drunk ! yah ! ” 

And with much cursing and growling, Clegg gathered 
up his reins, and drove off into the fog, Boaler having 
apparently prepaid the fare. 

“ Where for, sir, please ? ” said a porter, who had been 
putting the playbox and portmanteau on a truck during 
the altercation. 

“ Nowhere,” said Mr. Bultitude. “ I — I’m not going 
by this train ; find me a cab with a sober driver.” 

The porter looked round. A moment before there had 
beep several cabs discharging their loads at the steps ; 
pow the last had rolled away empty. 

“You might find one inside the station by the arrival 
platform,” he suggested ; “but there’ll be sure to be one 
coinin’ up here in another minute, sir, if you like to wait.” 

Paul thought the other course might be the longer one, 
and decided to stay where he was. So he walked into 
the lofty hall in which the booking offices are placed, and 
waited there by the huge fire that blazed in the stove 


IN THE TOILS. 


AA 

until he should hear the cab arrive which could take him 
back to Westbourne Terrace. 

One or two trains were about to start, and the place' 
was full. There were several Cambridge men “going 
up ” after the Christmas vacation, in every variety of 
ulster ; some tugging at refractory white terriers, one or 
two entrusting tall bright bicycles to dubious porters with 
many cautions and directions. There were burly old 
farmers going back to their quiet country-side, flushed 
with the prestige of a successful stand under cross-exami- 
nation in some witness-box at Lincoln’s Inn ; to tell and 
re-tell the story over hill and dale, in the market-place 
and bar-parlor, every week for the rest of their honest 
lives. There was the usual pantomime “ rally ” on a mild 
scale, with real frantic passengers, and porters, and 
trucks, and trays of lighted lamps. 

Presently, out of the crowd and confusion, a small boy,, 
in a thick pilot-jacket and an immensely tall hat, wh,om 
Paul had observed looking at him intently for some time,, 
walked up to the stove and greeted him familiarly. 

“ Hallo, Bultitude ! ” he said, “ I thought it was you. 
Here we are again, eh ? Ugh ! ” and he giggled dis- 
mally. 

He was a pale-faced boy with freckles, very light green 
eyes, long, rather ragged black hair, a slouching walk, and 
a smile half-simpering, half-impudent. 

Mr. Bultitude was greatly staggered by the presumption 
of so small a boy venturing to address him in this way. 
He could only stare haughtily. 

“ You might find a word to say to a fellow ! ” said the 
boy, in an aggrieved tone. “ Look here ; come and get 
your luggage labeled.” 

“ I don’t want it labeled,” said Paul, stifly, feeling 
bound to say something. “ I’m waiting for a cab to take 
me home again.” 

The other gave a loud whistle. “That’ll make it 
rather a short term, won’t it, if you are going home for the 
holidays already ? You’re a cool chap, Bultitude ! If I 
were to go back to my governor now, he wouldn’t see it. 

It would put him in no end of a bait. But you’re chaffing 


4 * 


VI CM VERSA. 


Paul walked away from him with marked coolness. He 
was not going to trouble himself to talk to his son’s 
schoolfellows. 

“ Ain’t you well ? ” said the boy, not at all discouraged 
by his reception, following him and taking his arm. 
“ Down in the mouth ? It’s beastly, isn’t it, having to go 
back to old Grimstones? The snow gave us an extra 
week, though — we’ve much to be thankful for. I wish it 
was the first days of the holidays again, don’t you ? 
What’s the matter with you ? What have I done to put 
you in a wax ? ” 

“ Nothing at present,” said Paul. “ I don’t speak to 
you merely because I don’t happen to have the — ah — 
pleasure of your acquaintance.” 

“ Oh, very well, then ; I dare say you know best,” said 
the other, huffily. “ Only I thought — considering we 
came the same half, and have been chums, and always 
sat next one other ever since — you might perhaps just 
recollect having met me before, you know.” 

“ Well, I don’t,” said Mr. Bultitude. “ I tell you I 
haven’t the least idea what your name is. The fact is, 
there has been a slight mistake, which I can’t stop to 
talk about now. There’s a cab just driven up outside 
now. You must excuse me, really, my boy, I want to 
go.” 

He tried to work his arm free from the close and 
affectionate grip of his unwelcome companion, who was 
regarding him with a sort of admiring leer. 

“ What a fellow you are, Bultitude ! ” he said ; “ al- 
ways up to something or other. You know me well 
enough. I’m Jolland'. What is the use of keeping it up 
any longer ? Let’s talk, and stop humbugging. How 
much grub have you brought back this time ? ” 

To be advised to stop humbugging, and be persecuted 
with such idle questions as these, maddened the poor 
gentleman. A hansom really had rolled up to the steps 
outside. He must put an end to this waste of precious 
time, and escape from this highly inconvenient small boy. 

He forced his way to the door, the boy still keeping fast 
hold of his arm. Fortunately the cab was still there, and 
its late occupant, a tall, broad man, was standing with 


IN THE TOILS. 


43 


his back to them, paying the driver. Paul was only just 
in time. 

“ Porter ! ” he cried. “ Where’s that porter ? I want 
my box put on that cab. No, I don’t care about the lug- 
gage ; engage the cab. Now, you little ruffian, are you 
going to let me go ? Can’t you see I’m anxious to get 
away ? ” 

Jolland giggled more impishly than ever. “Well, 
you’ve got cheek ! ” he said. “ Go on, I wish you may get 
that cab, I’m sure ! ” 

Paul, thus released, was just hurrying toward the cab, 
when the stranger who had got out of it settled the fare 
with satisfaction to himself, and turned sharply round. 

The gas-light fell full on his face, and Mr. Bultitude 
recognized that the form and features were those of no 
stranger — he had stumbled upon the very last person he 
had expected or desired to meet just then — his flight was 
intercepted by his son’s schoolmaster, Dr. Grimstone him- 
self ! 

The suddenness of the shock threw him completely off 
his balance. In the ordinary way the encounter would 
not, of course, have discomposed him ; but now he would 
have given worlds for presence of mind enough either to 
rush past to the cab, and secure his only chance of free- 
dom before the doctor had fully realized his intention, or 
else greet him affably and calmly, and, taking him quietly 
aside, explain his awkward position with an easy, man-of- 
the-world air, which would insure instant conviction. 

But both courses were equally impossible. He stood 
there, right in Dr. Grimstone’s path, with terrified, starting 
eyes and quivering limbs, more like an unhappy guinea- 
pig expecting the advances of a boa, than a British mer- 
chant in the presence of his son’s school-master ! He was 
sick and faint with alarm, and the consciousness that ap- 
pearances were all against him. 

There was nothing in the least extraordinary in the fact 
of the doctor’s presence at the station. Mr. Bultitude 
might easily have taken this into account as a very likely 
contingency and have provided accordingly, had he 
troubled to think, for it was Dr. Grimstone’s custom, upon 
the first day of the term, to come up to town and meet as 


44 


VICE VERSA. 


many of his pupils upon the platform as intended to return 
by a train previously specified at the foot of the school- 
bills ; and Paul had even expressly insisted upon Dick’s 
travelling under surveillance in this manner, thinking it 
necessary to keep him out of premature mischief. 

It makes calamity doubly hard to bear when one 
looks back and sees by what a trivial chance it has come 
upon us, and how slight an effort would have averted it 
altogether ; and Mr. Bultitude cursed his own stupidity as 
he stood there, rooted to the ground, and saw the hansom 
(a “ patent safety ” to him in sober earnest) drive off and 
abandon him to his fate. 

Dr. Grirnstone bore down heavily upon him and Jolland, 
who had by this time come up. He was a tall and impos- 
ing personage, with a strong black beard, and small, angry 
gray eyes, slightly blood-tinged ; he wore garments of a 
semi-clerical cut and color, though he was not in orders. 
Pie held out a hand to each with elaborate geniality. 

“ Ha, Bultitude, my boy, how are you ? How are you, 
Jolland? Come back, braced in body and mind by your 
vacation, eh ? That’s as it should be. Have you tickets ? 
No? follow me, then. You’re both overage, I believe. 
There you are ; take care of them.” 

And, before Paul could protest, he had purchased tick- 
ets for all three, after which he laid an authoritative hand 
upon Mr. Bultitude’s shoulder and walked him out through 
the booking-hall upon the platform. 

“ 'Phis is awful,” thought Paul, shrinking involuntarily ; 
“ simply awful. He evidently has no idea who I really 
am. Unless I’m very careful I shall be dragged off to 
Crichton house before I can put him right. If I could 
only get him away alone somewhere.” 

As if in answer to the wish, the doctor guided him by a 
slight pressure straight along by the end of the station, 
saying to Jolland as he did so, “ I wish to have a little se- 
rious conversation with Richard in private. Suppose you 
go to the bookstall and see if you can find out any of our 
young friends. Tell them to wait for me there.” 

When they were alone the doctor paced solemnly along 
in silence for some moments, while Paul, who had always 
been used to consider himself a fairly prominent object, 


IN THE TOILS . 


45 


whatever might be his surroundings, began to feel an alto- 
gether novel sensation of utter insignificance upon that 
immense brown plain of platform and under the huge span 
of the arches whose girders were lost in wreaths of min- 
gled fog and smoke. 

Still he had some hope. Was it possible, after all, that 
the doctor had divined his secret, and was searching for 
words delicate enough to convey his condolences ? 

“ I wished to tell you, Bultitude,” said the doctor pres- 
ently, and his first words dashed all Paul’s rising hopes, 
“ that I hope you are returning this term with the resolve 
to do better things. You have caused your excellent 
father much pain in the past. You little know the grief 
a wilful boy can inflict upon his parent.” 

“ I think I have a very fair idea of it,” thought Paul, 
but he said nothing. 

“ I hope you left him in good health ? Such a devoted 
parent, Richard — such a noble heart ! ” 

At any other time Mr. Bultitude might have felt gratified 
by these eulogies, but just then he was concious that he 
could lay no claim to them. It was Dick that had the 
noble heart now, and he himself felt less of a devoted 
parent even than he looked. 

“ I had a letter from him during the vacation,” continued 
Dr. Grim stone ; “ a sweet letter, Richard, breathing in 
every line a father’s anxiety and concern for your wel- 
fare.” 

Paul was a little staggered. He remembered having 
written, but he would scarcely perhaps have described his 
letter as “ sweet,” as he had not done much more than in- 
close a check for his son’s account and object to the items 
for pew-rent and scientific lectures with the diorama as ex- 
cessive. 

“ But — and this is what I wanted to say to you, Bulti- 
tude — his is no blind, doting affection. He has implored 
me, for your own sake, if I see you diverging ever so 
slightly from the path of duty, not to stay my hand. And 
I shall not forget his injunctions.” 

A few minutes ago, and it would have seemed to Paul 
so simple and easy a matter to point out to the doctor 
the very excusable error into which he had fallen, It 


46 


VICE VERSA. 


was n® more than he would have to do repeatedly 
upon his return, and here was an excellent opportunity 
for an explanation. 

But, somehow, the words would not come. The 
school-master’s form seemed so tremendous, and tower- 
ing, and he so feeble and powerless before him, that he 
soon persuaded himself that a public place, like a sta- 
tion platform, was no scene for domestic revelations of so 
painful a character. 

He gave up all idea of resistance at present. “ Per- 
haps I had better leave him in his error till we get into 
the train,” he thought ; “ then we will get rid of that other 
boy, and I can break it to him gradually in the railway 
carriage as I get more accustomed to him.” 

But, in spite of his determination to unbosom himself 
without further delay, he knew that a kind of fascinated 
resignation was growing upon him and gaining firmer 
hold each minute. 

Something must be done to break the spell and burst 
the toils which were woven round him, before all effort 
became impossible. 

“ And now,” said the doctor, glancing up at the great 
clock-face on which a reflector cast a patch of dim yellow 
light, “ we must be thinking of starting. But don’t forget 
what I have said.” 

And they walked back toward the bookstalls with their 
cheery warmth of color, past the glittering buffet, and on 
up the platform, to a part where six boys of various sizes 
were standing huddled forlornly together under a gas- 
light. 

“ Aha ! ” said Dr. Grimstone, with a slight touch of the 
ogre in his tone, “ more of my fellows, eh ? We shall be 
quite a party. How do you do, boys ? Welcome back to 
your studies ! ” 

And the six boys came forward, all evidently in the low- 
est spirits, and raised their tall hats with a studied polite- 
ness. 

“ Some old friends here, Bultitude,” said the doctor, im- 
pelling the unwilling Paul toward the group. “ You know 
Tipping, of course ; Coker, too,' you’ve met before — 
and Coggs. How are you, Siggers ? You’re looking well. 


IN , THE TOILS. 


47 


Ah, by the way, I see a new face — Kiffin, I think ? Kiffin, 
this is Master Bultitude, who will make himself your men- 
tor, 1 hope, and initiate you into our various manners and 
customs.” 

And, with a horrible dream-like sense of unreality, Mr. 
Bultitude found himself being greeted by several entire 
strangers with a degree of warmth embarrassing in the ex- 
treme. 

He would have liked to protest and declare himself 
there and then in his true colors, but if this had been 
difficult alone with the doctor under the clock, it was im- 
possible now, and he submitted ruefully enough to their 
unwelcome advances. 

Tipping, a tall, red-haired, raw-boned boy, with sleeves 
and trousers he had outgrown, and immense boots, wrung 
Paul’s hand with misdirected energy, saying “how-de- 
do ? ” with a gruff superiority, mercifully tempered by a 
touch of sheepishness. 

Coggs and Coker welcomed him with open arms as, an 
equal, while Siggers, a short, slight, sharp-featured boy, 
with a very fashionable hat and shirt-collars, and a horse- 
shoe pin, drawled, “ How are you, old boy ? ” with the lan- 
guor of a confirmed man about town. 

The other two were Biddlecomb, a boy with a bloom- 
ing complexion and a singularly sweet voice, and the new 
comer, Kiffin, who did not seem much more at home in the 
society of other boys than Mr. Bultitude himself, for lie 
kept nervously away from them, shivering with the piteous 
self-abandonment of an Italian greyhound. 

Paul was now convinced that, unless he exerted him- 
self considerably, his identity with his son would never 
even be questioned, and the danger roused him to a sudden 
determination. 

However his face and figure might belie him, nothing in 
his speech or conduct should encourage the mistake. 
Whatever it might cost him to overcome his fear of the 
doctor, he would force himself to act and talk ostentatiously, 
as much like his own ordinary self as possible, during the 
journey down to Rodwell Regis, so as to prepare the 
doctor’s mind for the disclosures he meant to make at the 
•arliest opportunity. He was beginning to see that the 


48 


VICE VERSA. 


railway carriage, with all those boys sitting by and staring, 
would be an inconvenient place for so delicate and difficult 
a confession. The guard having warned intending passen- 
gers to take their seats, and Jolland, who had been un- 
accountably missing all this time, having appeared from 
the direction of the refreshment buffet, furtively brushing 
away some suspicious-looking flakes and crumbs from his 
coat, and contrived to join the party unperceived, they all 
got into a first-class compartment — Paul with the rest. 

He longed for moral courage to stand out boldly and 
refuse to leave town, but, as we have seen, it was beyond 
his powers, and he temporized. Very soon the whistle 
had sounded and the train had begun to glide slowly out 
beyond the platform and arch, past the signal boxes and 
long, low sheds and offices which are the suburbs of at 
large terminus — and then it was too late. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 

“ Boys are capital fellows in their own way among their mates ; but they are 

unwholesome companions for grown people .” — Essays of Elia. 

For some time after they were fairly started the doctor 
read his evening paper with an air of impartial but severe 
criticism, and Mr. Bultitude, as he sat opposite him next 
to the window, found himself overwhelmed with a new and 
very unpleasant timidity. 

He knew that, if he would free himself, this utterly un- 
reasonable feeling must be wrestled with and overcome ; 
that now, if ever, was the time to assert himself, and 
prove that he was anything but the raw youth he was con- 
scious of appearing. He had merely to speak and act, 
too, in his ordinary, everyday manner ; to forget as far as 
possible the change that had affected his outer man, which 
was not so very difficult to do after all — and yet his 
heart sank lower and lower as each fresh telegraph post 
flitted past. 

“ I will let him speak first,” he thought ; “ then I shall 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS . 


49 


be able to feel my way.” But there was more fear than 
caution in the resolve. 

At last, however, the doctor laid down his paper, and, 
looking round with a glance of proprietorship on his pu- 
pils, who had relapsed into a decorous and gloomy silence, 
observed : “ Well, boys, you have had an unusually pro- 

tracted vacation this time — owing to the unprecedented 
severity of the weather. We must try to make up for it 
by the zest and ardor with which we pursue our studies 
during the term. I intend to reduce the Easter holidays 
by a week by way of compensation.” 

This announcement (which by no means relieved the 
general depression — the boys receiving it with a sickly in- 
terest) was good news to Paul, and even had the effect of 
making him forget his position for the time. 

“ I’m uncommonly glad to hear it, Dr. Grimstone,” he 
said heartily; “ that’s as it should be. Boys have too 
many holidays as it is. There’s no reason, to my mind, 
why parents should be the sufferers by every snow-storm. 
It’s no joke, I can assure you, to have a great, idle boy 
hanging about the place eating his empty head off.” 

A burglar enlarging upon the sanctity of the law of 
property, or a sheep urging the necessity for butcher’s 
meat, could hardly have produced a greater sensation. 

Every boy was roused from his languor to stare and 
wonder at these traitorous sentiments, which from the 
mouth of any but a known and tried companion, would 
have roused bitter hostility and contempt. As it was, 
their wonder became a rapturous admiration, and they 
waited for the situation to develop with a fearful and secret 
joy. 

’ It was some time before the doctor quite recovered him- 
self ; then he said with a grim smile : “ This is indeed 
finding Saul among the prophets ; your sentiments, if sin- 
cere, Bultitude — I repeat, if sincere — are very creditable. 
But I am obliged to look upon them with suspicion.” 
Then, as if to dismiss a doubtful subject, he inquired gen- 
erally, “ And how have you all been spending your holi- 
days, eh ? ” 

There was no attempt to answer this question, it being 
felt probably that it was, like the conventional “ How do 
4 


5 ° 


VICE VERSA . 


you do ? ” one to which an answer is neither desired nor 
expected, especially as he continued almost immediately : 
“ I took my boy Tom up to town the week before Christ- 
mas to see the representation of the ‘ Agamemnon ’ at 
St. George’s hall. The ‘ Agamemnon,’ as most of you are 
doubtless aware, is a drama by ^Eschylus, a Greek poet of 
established reputation. I was much pleased by the intel- 
ligent appreciation Tom showed during the performance. 
He distinctly recognized several words from his Greek 
Grammar in the course of the dialogue.” 

No one seemed capable of responding except Mr. 
Bultitude, who dashed into the breach with an almost 
pathetic effort to maintain his accustomed stiffness. 

“ I may be old-fashioned,” he said — “ very likely I am ; 
but I, ah, decidedly disapprove of taking children to dra- 
matic exhibitions of any kind. It unsettles them, sir — 
unsettles them.” 

Dr. Grimstone made no answer, but he put a hand on 
each knee, and glared with pursed lips and a leonine bris- 
tle of the beard at his youthful critic for some moments, 
after which he returned to his “ Globe ” with a short, om- 
inous cough. 

“ I have offended him now,” thought Paul. “ I must be 
more careful what I say. But I’ll get him into conversa- 
tion again presently.” 

So he began at the first opportunity : “You have this 
evening’s paper, I see. No telegrams of importance, I 
suppose ? ” 

“ No, sir,” said the doctor, shortly. 

“ I saw a report in to-day’s Times,” said poor Mr. Bul- 
titude, with a desperate attempt at his most conversational 
and old-gentlemanly manner — “ I saw a report that the 
camphor crop was likely to be a failure this season. Now, 
it’s a very singular thing about camphor, that the Japan- 
ese — ” He hoped to lead the conversation round to 
colonial produce, and thus open the doctors eyes by the 
extent of his acquaintance with the subject. 

“ I am already acquainted with the method of obtaining 
camphor, thank you, Bultitude,” said the doctor, with 
dangerous politeness. 

“ I was about to observe, when you interrupted me,” 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 51 

said Paul — “ and this is really a fact that I doubt if you 
are aware of — that the Japanese never — ” 

“ Well, well,” said the doctor, with some impatience ; 
“ probably they never do, sir ; but I shall have other op- 
portunities of finding out what you have read about the 
Japanese.” 

But he glanced over the top of the paper at the indig- 
nant Paul, who was not accustomed to have his informa- 
tion received in this manner, with less suspicion and a 
growing conviction that some influence during the holi- 
days had changed the boy from a graceless young scape- 
grace into a prig of the first water. 

“ He’s most uncivil,” Mr. Bultitude told himself — “ al- 
most insulting ; but I’ll go on. I’m rousing his curiosity. 
I’m making way with him ; he sees a difference already.” 
And so he applied himself once more. 

“ You’re a smoker, of course, Dr. Grimstone ? ” he be- 
gan. “ We don’t stop anywhere, I think, on the way, and 
I must confess myself, after dinner, a whiff or two — I 
think I can give you a cigar you’ll appreciate. 

And he felt for his cigar-case, really forgetting that it 
was gone, like all other incidents of his old self; while 
Jolland giggled with unrestrained delight at such charming 
effrontery. 

“ If I did not know, sir,” said the doctor, now effectually 
roused, “ that this was ill-timed buffoonery and not an in- 
tentional insult, I should be seriously angry. As it is, I 
can overlook any exhuberance of mirth, which is, perhaps, 
pardonable when the mind is elated by the return to the 
cheerful bustle and activity of school-life. But be very 
careful.” 

“ He needn’t be so angry,” thought Paul ; “ how could 
I know he doesn’t smoke ? But I’m afraid he doesn’t 
quite know me, even now.” 

So he began again : “ Did I hear you mention the name 
of Kiffin among those of your pupils here, doctor ? I 
thought so. Not the son of Jordan Kiffin, of College 
Hill, surely ? Yes ? Why, bless my soul, your father 
and I, my little fellow, were old friends in days before 
you were born or thought of — born or thought of. He was 


52 


VICE VERSA. 


in a very small way then, a very small — Eh, Dr. Grim- 
stone, don’t you feel well ?” 

“ I see what you’re aiming at, sir. You wish to 
prove to me that I’m making a mistake in my treatment 
of you.” 

“ That was my idea, certainly,” said Paul, much pleased. 
“ I’m very glad you take me, doctor.” 

“ I shall take you in a way you won’t appreciate soon, if 
this goes on,” said the doctor under his breath. 

“ When the time comes I shall know how to deal with 
you. Till then you’ll have the goodness to hold your 
tongue,” he said aloud. 

“ It’s not a very polite way of putting it,” Paul said to 
himself, “ but, at any rate, he sees how the case stands 
now, and after all, perhaps, he only speaks like that to 
put the boys off the scent. If so, it’s uncommonly con- 
siderate and thoughtful of him, by Gad. I won’t say any 
more.” 

But, by-and-by. the open window made him break his 
resolution. “ I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Dr. Grim- 
stone,” he said, with the air of an old gentleman used to 
having his way in these matters, “ but I positively must 
ask you either to allow me to have this window up or to 
change places with you. The night air, sir, at this time of 
the year is fatal, my doctor tells me, simply fatal to a man 
of my constitution.” 

The doctor pulled up the window with a frown, and yet 
a somewhat puzzled expression. “ I warn you, Bultitude,” 
he said, “ you are acting very imprudently.” 

“ So I am,” thought Paul, “ so I am. Good of him to 
remind me. I must keep it up before all these boys. This 
unpleasant business musn’t get about. I’ll hold my 
tongue till we get in. Then, I daresay, Grimstone will 
see me off by the next train up, if there is one, and lend 
me enough for a bed at an hotel for the night. I couldn’t 
get to St. Pancras till very late, of course. Or he might 
offer to put me up at the school. If he does, I think I 
shall very possibly accept. It might be better.” 

And he leaned back in his seat in a much easier frame 
of mind ; it was annoying, of course, to have been turned 
out of his warm dining-room, and sent all the way down 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


53 


to Rodwell Regis on a fool’s errand like this ; but still, if 
nothing worse came of it, he could put up with the tempo- 
rary inconvenience, and it was a great relief to be spared 
the necessity of an explanation. 

The other boys watched him furtively with growing ad- 
miration, which expressed itself in subdued whispers, 
varied by little gurgles and “ squirks ” of laughter ; they 
tried to catch his eye and stimulate him to further feats of 
audacity, but Mr. Bultitude, of course, repulsed all such 
overtures with a coldness and severity which at once 
baffled and piqued them. 

At last his eccentricity took a shape which considerably 
lessened their enthusiasm. Kiffin, the new boy, occupied 
the seat next to Paul ; he was a nervous-looking little 
fellow, with a pale face and big, pathetic brown eyes like 
a seal’s, and his dress bore plain evidence of a mother’s 
careful supervision, having all the uncreased trimness and 
specklessness rarely to be observed except in the toilettes 
of the waxen prodigies in a shop-window. 

It happened that, as he lay back in the padded seat be- 
tween the sheltering partitions, watching the sickly yellow 
dregs of oil surging dismally to and fro with the motion in 
the lamp overhead, or the black, indistinct forms flitting 
past through the misty blue outside, the pathos of his situ- 
ation became all at once too much for him. 

He was a home-bred boy, without any of that taste for 
the companionship and pursuits of his fellows, or capacity 
for adapting himself to their predjudices and require- 
ments, which gives some home-bred boys a ready passport 
into the roughest communities. 

His heart throbbed with no excited curiosity, no con- 
scious pride, at this his first important step in life ; he 
was a forlorn little stranger, in an unsympathetic, strange 
land, and was only too well aware of his position. 

So that it is not surprising that, as he thought of the 
home he had left an hour or two ago, which now seemed 
so shadowy, so inaccessible and remote, his eyes began to 
smart and sting, and his chest to heave ominously, until 
he felt it necessary to do something to give a partial vent 
to his emotions, and prevent a public and disgraceful ex- 
hibition of grief. 


54 


VICE VERSA. 


Unhappily for him, he found this safety-valve in a series 
of suppressed but distinctly audible sniffs. 

Mr. Bultitude bore this for some time with no other 
protest than an occasional indignant bounce or a lowering 
frown in the offender’s direction, but at last his nerves, 
strung already to a high pitch by all he had undergone, 
could stand it no longer. 

“ Dr. Grimstone,” he said, with polite determination, 
“ I’m not a man to complain without good reason, but 
really I must ask you to interfere. Will you tell this boy 
boy here, on my right, either to control his feelings or to 
cry into his pocket-handkerchief, like an ordinary human 
being. A good honest bellow I can understand, but this 
infernal whiffling and sniffing, sir, I will not put up with. 
It’s nothing less than unnatural in a boy of that size.” 

“ Kiffin,” said the doctor, “ are you crying ? ” 

“ N — no, sir,” faltered Kiffin ; “ I — I think I must have 
caught cold, sir.” 

“ I hope you are telling me he truth, because I should 
be sorry to believe you were beginning your new life in a 
spirit of captiousness and rebellion. I’ll have no muti- 
neers in my camp. I’ll establish a spirit of trustful happi- 
ness and unmurmuring content in this school, if I have to 
flog every boy in it as long as I can stand over him ! As 
for you, Richard Bultitude, I have no words to express my 
pain and disgust at the heartless irreverence with which 
you persist in mimicking and burlesquing a fond and ex- 
cellent parent. Unless, I perceive, sir, in a very short 
time, a due sense of your error and a lively repentance, my 
disapproval will take a very practical form.” 

Mr. Bultitude fell back into his seat with a gasp. 
It was hard to be accused of caricaturing one’s own self, 
particularly when conscious of entire innocence in that 
respect, but even this was slight in comparison with the 
discovery that he had been so blindly deceiving himself ! 

The doctor evidently had failed to penetrate his 
disguise, and the dreaded scene of elaborate explanation 
must be gone through after all. 

The boys, (with the exception of Kiffin) still found 
exquisite enjoyment in this extraordinary and original 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


55 


exhibition, and waited eagerly for further experiments on 
the doctor’s patience. 

They were soon gratified. If there was one thing Paul 
detested more than another, it was the smell of pepper- 
mint — no less than three office boys had been discharged 
by him because, as he alleged, they made the clerk’s 
room reek with it — and now the subtile, searching odor of 
the hated confection was gradually stealing into the 
apartment and influencing its atmosphere. 

He looked at Coggs, who sat on the seat opposite to 
him, and saw his cheeks and lips moving in slow and 
appreciative absorption of something. Coggs was clearly 
the culprit. 

“ Do you encourage your boys to make common nuis- 
ancea of themselves in a public place, may I ask, Dr. 
Grimstone ? ” he inquired, fuming. 

“ Some scarcely seem to require encouragement, Bulti- 
tude,” said the doctor, pointedly ; “ what is the matter 
now ? ” 

“If he takes it medicinally,” said Paul, “he should 
choose some other time and place to treat his complaint. 
If he has a depraved liking for the abominable stuff, for 
heaven’s sake make him refrain from it on occasions when 
it is a serious annoyance to others ! ” 

“ Will you explain ? Who and what are you talking 
about ? ” 

“ That boy opposite,” said Paul, pointing the finger of 
denunciation at the astonished Coggs ; “ he’s sucking an 
infernal peppermint lozenge, strong enough to throw the 
train off the rails ! ” 

“ Is what Bultitude tells me true, Coggs ? ” demanded 
the doctor, in an awful voice. 

Coggs, after making several attempts to bolt the 
offending lozenge, and turning scarlet meanwhile with 
confusion and coughing, stammered huskily something to 
the effect that he had “bought the lozenges at a chemist’s,” 
which he seemed to consider, for some reason, a mitigat- 
ing circumstance. 

“ Have vou any more of this pernicious stuff about 
you ? ” said the doctor. 

Very slowly and reluctantly, Coggs brought out of one 


5 6 


VICE VERSA. 


pocket after another three or four neat little white pack 
ets, made up with that lavish expenditure of time, string, 
and sealing-wax, by which the struggling chemist seeks to 
reconcile the public mind to a charge of two hundred and 
fifty per cent, on cost price, and handed them to Dr. 
Grimstone, who solemnly unfastened them, one by one, 
glanced at their contents with infinite disgust, and flung 
them out of the window. 

Then he turned to Paul with a look of more favor than 
he had. yet shown him. “ Bultitude,” he said, “ I am 
obliged to you. A severe cold in the head has rendered 
me incapable of detecting this insidious act of insubordi- 
nation and self-indulgence, on which I shall have more to 
say on another occasion. Your moral courage and 
promptness in denouncing the evil thing are much to your 
credit.” 

“ Not at all,” said Paul, “ not at all, my dear sir. I 
mentioned it because I, ah, happen to be peculiarly 
sensitive on the subject, and — ” Here he broke off with 
a sharp yell, and began to rub his ankle. “ One of these 
young savages has just given me a severe kick ; it’s that 
fellow over there, with the blue necktie. I have given 
him no provocation, and he attacks me in this brutal 
manner, sir ; I appeal to you for protection ! ” 

“ So, Coker ” (Coker wore a blue necktie) said the doctor 
“ you emulate the wild ass in more qualities than those of 
stupidity and stubbornness, do you ? You lash out with 
your hind legs at an inoffensive schoolfellow with all the 
viciousness of a kangaroo, eh ? Write out all you find in 
Buff on’s Natural History upon those two animals a dozen 
times, and bring it to me by to-morrow evening. If I am 
to stable wild asses, sir, they shall be broken in ! ” 

Six pairs of sulky, glowering eyes were fixed upon the 
unconscious Paul for the rest of the journey ; indignant 
protests and dark vows of vengeance were muttered under 
cover of the friendly roar and rattle of tunnels. But the 
object of them heard nothing ; his composure was return- 
ing once more in the sunshine of Dr. Grimstone’s appro- 
bation, and he almost decided on declaring himself in the 
station fly. 

And now at last the train was grinding along discord- 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


57 


antly with the brakes on, and, after a little preliminary 
jolting and banging over the points, drew up at a long, 
lighted platform, where melancholy porters paced up and 
down, croaking, “ Rodwell Regis ! ” like so many Solo- 
man Eagles predicting woe. 

Paul got out with the others, and walked forward to 
the guard’s van, where he stood shivering in the raw 
night air by a small heap of portmanteaux and white, 
clamped boxes. 

“ I should like to tell him all about it now,” he 
thought, “ if he wasn’t so busy. I’ll get him to go in a 
cab alone with me, and get it over before we reach the 
house.” 

Dr. Grimstone certainly did not seem in a very 
receptive mood for confidences just then. No flys were 
to be seen, which he took as a personal outrage, and 
visited upon the station-master in hot indignation. 

“ It’s scandalous, I tell you,” he was saying ; “ scan- 
dalous ! No cabs to meet the train. My school reas- 
sembles to-day, and here I find no arrangements made 
for their accommodation ! Not even an omnibus ! I 
shall write to the manager and report this. Let some 
one go for a fly immediately. Boys, go into the waiting- 
room till I come to you. Stay, there are too many for one 
fly. Coker, Coggs, and, let me see, yes, Bultitude, you all 
know your w r ay. Walk on, and tell Mrs. Grimstone we 
are coming.” 

Mr. Bultitude was perhaps more relieved than disap- 
' pointed by this postponement of a disagreeable interview, 
though if he had seen Coker dig Coggs in the side with a 
chuckle of exultant triumph, he might have had misgivings 
as to the prudence of trusting himself alone with them. 

As it was, he almost determined to trust the pair with 
his secret. “ They will be valuable witnesses,” he said to 
himself, “ that whoever else I may be, I am not Dick.” 

So he went on briskly ahead over a covered bridge and 
down some break-neck wooden steps, and passed through 
the wicket out upon the railed-in space, where the cabs 
and omnibuses should have been, but which was now a 
blank, spectral waste with a white ground-fog lurking 
round its borders, 


58 


VICE VERSA. 


Here he was joined by his companions, who, after a lit- 
tle whispering, came up one on either side and put an arm 
through each of his. 

“ Well,” said Paul, thinking to canter them agreeably ; 
“ here you are, young men, eh ? Holidays all over now ! 
Work while you’re young, and then — Gad, you’re walking 
me off my legs. Stop ! I’m not as young as I used to 
be—” 

“ Grim can’t see us here, can he, Coker ? ” said Coggs, 
when they had cleared the gates and palings. 

“ Not he ! ” said Coker. 

“ Very well, then. Now then, young Bultitude, you 
used to be a decent fellow enough last term, though you 
were coxy. So, before we go any further — what do you 
mean by this sort of thing ? ” 

“ Because,” put in Coker, “ if you aren’t quite right in 
your head, through your old governor acting like a brute 
all the holidays, as you said he does, just say so, and we 
won’t be hard on you.” 

“ I — he — always an excellent father,” stammered Paul. 
“ What am I to explain ? ” 

“ Why, what did you go and sneak of him for bringing 
tuck back to school for, eh ? ” demanded Coker. 

“ Yes, and sing out when he hacked your shin ? ” 
added Coggs ; and tell Grimstone that new fellow was 
blubbering? Where’s the joke in all that, eh? Where’s 
the joke ? ” 

“ You don’t suppose I was bound to sit calmly down and 
allow you to suck your villainous peppermints under my 
very nose, do you ? ” said Mr. Bultitude. “ Why shouldn’t 
I complain if a boy annoys me by sniffing, or kicks me on 
the ankle? Just tell me that ! Suppose my neighbor has 
a noisy dog or a smoky chimney, am I not to venture to 
tell him of it ? Is he to — ” 

But his arguments, convincing as they promised to be, 
were brought to a sudden and premature close by Coker, 
who slipped behind him and administered a sharp jog 
below his back, which jarred his spine and caused him 
infinite agony. 

“ You little brute! ” cried Paul, “ I could have you up 
for assault for that. An old man like me, too 1 ” 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


59 


But upon this Coggs did the very same thing, only 
harder. “ Last term you’d have shown fight for much less, 
Bultitude,” they both observed severely, as some justifica- 
tion for repeating the process. 

“ Now, perhaps, you’ll drop it for the future,” said 
Coker. “ Look here ! we’ll give you one more chance. 
This sneaking dodge is all very well for Chawner. Chaw- 
ner could do that sort of thing without getting sat upon, 
because he’s a big fellow ; but we’re not going to stand it 
from you. Will you promise on your sacred word of honor, 
now, to be a decent sort of chap again, as you were last 
term ? ” 

But Mr. Bultitude, though he longed for peace and 
quietness, dreaded doing or saying anything to favor the 
impression that he was the schoolboy he unluckily ap- 
peared to be, and he had not skill and tact enough to dis- 
semble and assume a familiar, genial tone of equality with 
these rough boys. 

“ You don’t understand,” he protested feebly. “ If I 
could only tell you — ” 

“ We don’t want any fine language, you know,” said the 
relentless Coggs. “ Yes or no. Will you promise to be 
your old self again ? ” 

“ I only wish I could,” said poor Mr. Bultitude — “ but I 
can’t ! ” 

“ Very well, then,” said Coggs, firmly, “ we must try the 
torture. Coker, will you screw the back of his hand, 
while I show him how they make barley-sugar ? ” 

And he gave Paul an interesting illustration of the lat- 
ter branch of industry by twisting his right arm round and 
round till he nearly wrenched it out of the socket, while 
Coker seized his left hand and pounded it vigorously with 
the first joint of his forefinger, causing the unfortunate 
Paul to yell for mercy. 

At last he could bear no more, and, breaking away from 
his tormentors with a violent effort, he ran frantically down 
the silent load toward a house which he knew from former 
visits to be Dr. Grimstone’s. 

He was but languidly pursued, and, as the distance was 
short, he soon gained a gate on the stuccoed posts of 


6o 


VICE VERSA. 


which he could read “ Crichton House ” by the light of a 
neighboring gas-lamp. 

“ This is a nice way/’ he thought, as he reached it 
breathless and trembling, “ for a father to visit his son’s 
school ! ” 

He had hoped to reach sanctuary before the other two 
could overtake him ; but he soon discovered that the gate 
was shut fast, and all his efforts would not bring him 
within reach of the bell-handle — he was too short. 

So he sat down on the door-step in resigned despair, 
and waited for his enemies. Behind the gate was a large, 
many-windowed house, with steps leading up to a portico. 
In the play-ground to his right the school gymnasium, a 
great gallows-like erection, loomed black and grim through 
the mist, the night wind favoring the ghastliness of its ap- 
pearance by swaying the ropes till they creaked and 
moaned weirdly on the hooks, and the metal stirrups 
clinked and clashed against one another in irregular 
cadence. 

He had no time to observe more, as Coker and Coggs 
joined him, and, on finding he had not rung the bell, 
seized the occasion to pummel him at their leisure before 
announcing their arrival. 

Then the gate was opened, and the three — the revenge- 
ful pair assuming an air of lamb-like inoffensiveness — 
entered the hall, and were met by Mrs. Grimstone. 

“ Why, here you are, ! ” she said, with an air of surprise, 
and kissing them with real kindness. “ How cold you 
look ! So you actually had to walk. No cabs as usual. 
Poor boys ! come in and warm yourselves. You’ll find 
all your old friends in the> schoolroom.” 

Mr. Bultitude submitted to be kissed with some reluc- 
tance. He was a scrupulously proper and correct old gen- 
tleman, and inwardly hoped that Dr. Grimstone might 
never hear of it. 

Mrs. Grimstone, it may be said here, was a stout, fair 
woman, not in the least intellectual or imposing, but with 
a warm heart, and a way of talking to and about boys that 
secured her the confidence of mothers more effectually, 
perhaps, than the most polished conversation and irre- 
proachable deportment could have done. 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 61 

She did not reserve her motherliness for the reception- 
room, either, as some schoolmasters’ wives have a tendency 
to do, and the smallest boy felt less homesick when he 
saw her. 

She opened a green-baize outer door, and the door 
beyond it, and led them into a long, high room, with 
desks and forms placed against the walls, and a writing 
table, and line of brown-stained tables down the middle. 
Opposite the windows there was a curious structure of 
shelves partitioned into lockers, and filled with rows of 
shabby school books. 

The room had been originally intended for a drawing- 
room, as was evident from the inevitable white and gold 
wall-paper and the tarnished gilt beading round the doors 
and window shutters ; the mantel-piece, too, was of white 
marble, and the gaselier fitted with dingy crystal lusters. 

But sad-colored maps hung on the ink-splashed walls, 
and a clock with a blank idiotic face (it is not every 
clock that possesses a decently intelligent expression) 
ticked over the gilt pier-glass. The boards were uncar- 
peted, and stained with patches of ink of all sizes and 
ages ; while the atmosphere, in spite of the blazing fire, 
had a scholastic blending of soap and water, ink, and slate- 
pencil in its composition, which produced a chill and 
depressing effect. 

On the forms opposite the fire some ten or twelve boys 
were sitting, a few comparing notes as to their holiday 
experiences with some approach to vivacity. The rest, 
with hands in pockets and feet stretched toward the 
blaze, seemed lost in melancholy abstraction. 

“ There ! ” said Mrs. Grimstone, cheerfully, “ you’ll 
have plenty to talk to one another about. I’ll send Tom 
in to see you presently ! ” And she left them with a 
reassuring nod, though the prospect of Tom’s company 
did not perhaps elate them as much as it was intended to 
do. 

Mr. Bultitude felt much as if he had suddenly been 
dropped down a bear-pit, and, avoiding welcome and 
observation as well as he could, got away into a corner, 
from which he observed his new companions with uneasy 
apprehension. 


62 


VICE VERSA. 


“ I say,” said one boy, resuming the interrupted con- 
versation, “ did you go to Drury Lane ? Wasn’t it stun- 
ning ! Thargoose, you know, and the lion in the forest, 
and all the wooden animals lumbering in out of the toy 
Noah’s Ark ! ” 

“Why couldn’t you come to our party on Twelfth- 
night ? ” asked another. “We had great larks. I wish 
you’d been there ! ” 

“ I had to go to young Skidmore’s instead,” said a 
pale, spiteful-looking boy, with fair hair carefully parted 
in the middle. “ It was like his cheek to ask me, but 
I thought I’d go, you know, just to see what it was 
like.” 

“ What was it like ? ” asked one or two near him, lan- 
guidly. 

“ Oh, awfully slow ! They’ve a poky little house in 
Brompton somewhere, and there was no dancing, only 
boshy games and a conjurer, without any presents. And, 
oh ! I say, at supper there was a big cake on the table, 
and no one was allowed to cut it, because it was hired. 
They’re so poor, you know. Skidmore’s pater is only a 
clerk, and you should see his sisters ! ” 

“ Why, are they pretty ? ” 

“ Pretty ! they’re just like young Skidmore — only 
uglier ; and just fancy, his mother asked me ‘ if I was 
Skidmore’s favorite companion, and if he helped me in 
my studies ? ’ ” 

The unfortunate Skidmore, when he returned, soon 
found reason to regret his rash hospitality, for he never 
heard the last of the cake (which had, as it happened, 
been paid for in the usual manner) during the rest of the 
term. 

There was a slight laugh at the enormity of Mrs. Skid- 
more’s presumption, and then a long pause, after which 
some one asked suddenly, “ Does any one know whether 
Chawner really has left this time ? ” 

“ I hope so,” said a big, heavy boy, and his hope 
seemed echoed with a general fervor. “ He’s been going 
to leave every term for the last year, but I believe he 
really has done it this time. He wrote and told me he 
wasn’t coming back.” 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


63 


“ Thank goodness ! ” said several, with an evident relief, 
and some one was just observing that they had had 
enough of the sneaking business, when a fly was heard to 
drive up, and the bell rang, whereupon every one aban- 
doned his easy attitude, and seemed to brace himself up 
for a trying encounter. 

“ Look out — here’s Grimstone ! ” they whispered under 
their breaths, as voices and footsteps were heard in the 
hall outside. 

Presently the door of the schoolroom opened, and 
another boy entered the room. Dr. Grimstone, it ap- 
peared, had not been the occupant of the fly, after all. 
The new comer was a tall, narrow-shouldered, stooping 
fellow, with a sallow, unwholesome complexion, thin lips, 
and small, sunken brown eyes. His cheeks were creased 
with a dimpling subsmile, half uneasy, half malicious, and 
his tread was mincing and catlike. 

“ Well, you fellows ? ” he said. 

All rose at once, and shook hands effusively. “ Why, 
Chawner ! ” they cried, “ how are you, old fellow ? We 
thought you weren’t coming back ! ” 

There was a heartiness in their manner somewhat at 
variance with their recent expressions of opinion ; but 
they had doubtless excellent reasons for any inconsist- 
ency. 

“ Well,” said Chawner, in a low, soft voice, which had a 
suggestion of feminine spitefulness, “ I was going to leave, 
but I thought you’d be getting into mischief here without 
me to watch over you. Appleton, and Lench, and Coker 
want looking after badly, I know. So, you see, I’ve come 
back after all.” 

He laughed with a little malevolent cackle as he spoke, 
and the three boys named laughed too, though with no 
great heartiness, and shifting the while uneasily on their 
seats. 

After this sally the conversation languished until Tom 
Grimstone’s appearance. He strolled in with a semi- 
professional air, and shook hands with affability. 

Tom was a short, flabby, sandy-haired youth, not par- 
ticularly loved of his comrades, and his first remark was, 
“ I say, you chaps, have you done your holiday task ? Pa 


64 


VICE VERSA. 


says he shall keep every one who hasn’t. I’ve done mine 
which, as a contribution to the general liveliness, was a 
distinct failure. 

Needless to say, the work imposed as a holiday occupa- 
tion had been first deferred, then forgotten, then remem- 
bered too late, and recklessly defied with the confidence 
begotten in a home atmosphere. 

Amid a general silence Chawner happened to see Mr. 
Bultitude in his corner, and crossed over to him. “ Why, 
there’s Dicky Bultitude there all the time, and he never 
came to shake hands ! Aren’t you going to speak to 
me ? ” 

Paul growled something indistinctly, feeling strangely 
uncomfortable and confused. 

“ What’s the matter with him ? ” asked Chawner. 
“ Does any one know ? Has he lost his tongue ? ” 

“ He hadn’t lost it coming down in the train,” said 
Coker : “ I wish he had. I tell you what, you fellows — 
He — here’s Grim at last ! I’ll tell you all about it up in 
the bedroom.” 

And Dr. Grimstone really did arrive at this point, much 
to Paul’s relief, and looked in to give a grip of the hand 
and a few words to those of the boys he had not seen. 

Biddlecomb, Tipping, and the rest, came in with him, 
and the schoolroom soon filled with others arriving by 
later trains, among the later comers being the two house- 
masters, Mr. Blinkhorn and Mr. Tinkler ; and there fol- 
lowed a season of bustle and conversation, which lasted 
until the doctor touched a small hand-bell, and ordered 
them to sit down round the tables while supper was 
brought in. 

Mr. Bultitude was not sorry to hear the word “ supper.” 
He was faint and dispirited, and, although he had dined 
not very long since, thought that perhaps a little cold beef 
and beer, or some warmed-up trifle, might give him 
courage to tell his misfortunes before bedtime. 

Of one thing he felt certain. Nothing should induce 
him to trust his person in a bedrom with any of those vio- 
lent and vindictive boys ; whether he succeeded in de- 
claring himself that night or not, he would at least insist 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 65 

on a separate bedroom. Meantime he looked forward 
to supper as likely to restore geniality and confidence. 

But the supper announced so imposingly proved to con- 
sist of nothing more than two plates piled with small pieces 
of thinly-buttered bread, which a page handed round to- 
gether with tumblers of water ; and Paul, in his disap- 
pointment, refused this refreshment with more firmness 
than politeness, as Dr. Grimstone observed. 

“ You got into trouble last term, Bultitude,” he said 
sternly, “ on account of this same fastidious daintiness. 
Your excellent father has informed me of your waste and 
gluttony at his own bountifully spread table. Don’t let 
me have occasion to reprove you for this again.” 

Mr. Bultitude, feeling the necessity of propitiating him, 
hasted to take the two largest squares of bread and butter 
on the plate. They were moist and thick, and he had 
considerable difficulty in disposing of them, besides the 
gratification of hearing himself described as a “ pig ” by 
his neighbors, who reproved him with a refreshing candor. 

“I must get away from here,” he thought, ruefully. 
“ Dick seems very unpopular. I wish I didn’t feel so low- 
spirited and unwell. Why can’t I carry it off easily, as — 
as a kind of joke ? How hard these forms are, and how 
those infernal boys did jog my back ! ” 

Bedtime came at length. The boys filed, one by one, 
out of the room, and the doctor stood by the door to 
shake hands with them as they passed. 

Mr. Bultitude lingered until the others had gone, for he 
had made up his mind to seize this opportunity to open 
the doctor’s eyes to the mistake he was making. But he 
felt uncomfortably nervous ; the diplomatic and well- 
chosen introduction he had carefully prepared had left him 
at the critical moment ; all power of thought was gone 
with it, and he went tremblingly up to the school-master, 
feeling hopelessly at the mercy of anything that chose to 
come out of his mouth. 

“ Dr. Grimstone,” he began ; “ before retiring I — I 
must insist — I mean I must request — What I wish to 
say is — ” 

“ I see,” said the doctor, catching him up sharply. 
“ You wish to apologize for your extraordinary behavior 
5 


66 


VICE VERSA. 


in the railway carriage ? Well, though you made some 
amends afterward, an apology is very right and proper. 
Say no more about it.” 

“ It’s not that,” said Paul, hopelessly ; “ I wanted to 
explain — ” 

“ Your conduct with regard to the bread and butter. If 
it was simply want of appetite, of course there is no more 
to be said. But I have an abhorrence of — ” 

“ Quite right,” said Paul, recovering himself ;• “ I 
hate waste myself, but there is something I must tell you 
before — ” 

“ If it concerns that disgraceful conduct of Coker’s,” 
said the doctor, “ you may speak on. I shall have to con- 
sider his case to-morrow. Has any similar case of diso- 
bedience come to your knowledge ? If so, I expect you 
to disclose it to me. You have found some other boy with 
sweetmeats in his possession ? ” 

“ Good heavens, sir ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, losing his 
temper ; “ I haven’t been searching the whole school for 
sweetmeats ! I have other things to occupy my mind, 
sir. And, once for all, I demand to be heard ! Dr. 
Grimstone there are, ahem, domestic secrets that can only 
be alluded to in the strictest privacy. I see that one of 
your assistants is writing at his table there. Can not we 
go where there will be less risk of interruption ? You 
have a study, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the doctor, with a terrible grimness. 
“ I have a study — and I have a cane. I can convince you 
of both facts, if you wish it. If you insult me again by 
this brazen buffoonery, I will. Be off to your dormitory, 
sir, before you provoke me to punish you. Not another 
word ! Go ! ” 

And, incredible as it may appear to all who have never 
been in his position, Mr. Bultitude went. It was almost 
an abdication, it was treachery to his true self ; he knew 
the vital importance of firmness at this crisis. But, nev- 
ertheless, his courage gave way all at once, and he crawled 
up the bare, uncarpeted stairs without any further 
protest ! 

“ Good night, Master Bultitude,” said a housemaid, 
meeting him on the staircase : “ you know your bedroom. 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 67 . 

No. 6, with Master Coker, and Master Biddlecomb, and 
the others.” 

Paul dragged himself up to the highest landing-stage, 
and, with a sick foreboding, opened the door on which the 
figure 6 was painted. 

It was a large, bare, plainly-papered room, with several 
curtainless windows, the blinds of which were drawn, a 
long, deal stand of wash-hand basins, and eight little 
white beds against the walls. 

A fire was lighted in consideration of its being the first 
night, and several boys were talking excitedly round it. 

“ Here he is ! He’s stayed behind to tell more tales ! ” 
they cried, as Paul entered nervously. “Now then, Bul- 
titude, what have you got to say for yourself ? ” 

Mr. 'Bultitude felt powerless among all these young 
wolves. He had no knowledge of boys, nor any notion of 
acquiring an influence over them, having hitherto regarded 
them as necessary nuisances, to be rather repressed than 
studied. He could only stare hopelessly at them in fas- 
cinated silence. 

“You see he hasn’t a word to say for himself ! ” said 
Tipping. “ Look here, what shall we do to him ? Shall 
we try tossing in a blanket ? I’ve never tried tossing a 
fellow in one myself, but as long as you don’t jerk him too 
high, or out on the floor, you can’t hurt him dangerously.” 

“No, I say, don’t toss him in a blanket,” pleaded Bid- 
dlecomb, and Paul felt gratefully toward him at the w'ords ; 

“ any one coming up would see what was going on. I 
vote we flick at him with towels.” 

“ Now just you understand this clearly,” said Paul, 
thinking, not, without reason, that this course of treatment 
was likely to prove painful ; “ I refuse to allow myself to 
be flicked at with towels. No one has ever offered me such 
an indignity in my life ! Oh, do you think I’ve not 
enough on my mind as it is without the barbarities of a 
set of young brutes like you ! ” 

As this appeal was not of a very conciliatory nature, 
they at once proceeded to form a circle round him and, 
judging their distance with great accuracy, jerked towels 
at his person with such diabolical dexterity, that the wet 
corners cut him at all points like so many fine thongs, 


68 


VICE VERSA. 


and he spun round like a top, dancing, and, I regret to 
add, swearing violently, at the pain. 

When he was worked up almost to frenzy pitch, Biddle- 
comb’s sweet low voice cried, “ Cave , you fellows ! I hear 
Grim. Let him undress now, and we can lam it into him 
afterward with slippers ! ” 

At this they all cast off such of their clothes as they 
still wore, and slipped modestly and peacefully into bed, 
just as Dr. Grimstone’s large form appeared at the door- 
way. Mr. Bultitude made as much haste as he could, but 
did not escape a reprimand from the doctor as he turned 
the gas out ; and, as soon as he had made the round of 
the bed-rooms and his heavy tread had died away down 
the staircase, the light-he' ’ cupants of No. 6 “ lam- 
med ” it into the unhap^' until they were tired of 

the exercise, and left to creep, sore and trembling 
with rage and fright, in.o his cold, hard bed. 

Then, after a little desultory conversation, one by one 
sank from incoherence into silence, and rose from silence 
to snores, while Paul alone lay sleepless, listening to the 
creeping tinkle of the dying fire, drearily wondering at 
the 1 marvelous change that had come over his life and for- 
tunes in the last few hours, and feverishly composing im- 
passioned appeals which were to touch the doctor’s heart 
and convince his reason. 


CHAPTER V. 

DISGRACE. 

“ Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day’s disasters in his morning’s face.” 

Sleep came at last, and brought too brief forgetfulness. 
It was not till the dull grey light of morning was glimmer- 
ing through the blinds that Mr. Bultitude awoke to his 
troubles. 

The room was bitterly cold, and he remained shivering 
in bed for some time, trying to realize and prepare for his 
altered condition. 


DISGRACE. 


69 


He was the only one awake. Now and then from one 
of the beds around a boy would be heard talking in his 
sleep, or laughing with holiday glee — at the drolleries possi- 
bly of some pantomime performed for his amusement in 
the Theatre Royal, Dreamland — a theatre mercifully open 
to all boys free of charge, long after the holidays have 
come to an end, the only drawbacks being a certain want 
of definiteness in the plot and scenery, and a liability to 
premature termination of the vaguely splendid performance. 

Once Kiffin, the new boy, awoke with a start and a 
heavy sigh, but he cried himself to sleep again almost im- 
mediately. 

Mr. Bultitude could bear being inactive no longer. He 
thought, if he got up, he r' J ~ l ^.rhaps see his misfortunes 
shrink to a more bearable, -^eless scale, and besides, 

he judged it prudent, for many , ons, to finish his toilet 
before the sleepers began theirs. fJ 

Very stealthily, dreading to rouse anyone and attract at- 
tention in the form of slippers, he broke the clinking crust 
of ice in one of the basins and, shuddering from the shock, 
bathed face and hands in the biting water. He parted 
his hair, which from natural causes he had been unable to 
accomplish for some years, and now found an awkwardness 
in accomplishing neatly, and then stole down the dark, creak- 
ing staircase just as the butler in the hall began to swing 
the big railway bell which was to din stern reality into the 
sleepy ears above. 

In the schoolroom a yawning maid had just lighted 
the fire, from which turbid yellow clouds of sulphurous 
smoke were pouring into the room, making it necessary to 
open the windows and lower a temperature that was far 
from high originally. 

Paul stood shaking by the mantelpiece in a very bad 
temper for some minutes. If the doctor had come in 
then, he might have been spurred by indignation to utter 
his woes, and even claim and obtain his freedom. But 
that was not to be. 

The door did open presently, however, and a little girl 
appeared ; a very charming little maiden indeed, in a neat 
dark costume relieved by a fresh white pinafore. She 
had deep grey eyes and glossy brown hair falling over 


70 


VICE VERSA . 


her forehead and down her back in soft straight masses, 
her face was oval rather than round, and slightly serious, 
though her smile was pretty and gay. 

She ran toward Mr. Bultitude with a glad little cry, 
stretching out her pretty hands. 

“ Dick ! dear Dick ! ” she said, “ I am so glad ! I 
thought you’d be down early ; as you used to be. I wanted 
to sit up last night so very much, but mamma wouldn’t let 
me.” 

Some old gentlemen might have been very glad to be 
welcomed in this way, even vicariously, and have seized 
the opportunity to pet and pay court to her. As for boys, 
it must have been a very bad school indeed which 
Dulcie Grimstone could not have robbed of much of its 
terrors. 

Me. Bultitude, however, as has been explained, did not 
appreciate children — being a family man himself. When 
one sees their petty squabbles and jealousies, hears their 
cruel din, and pays for their monkeyish mischief, perhaps 
the daintiest children seem but an earthly order of cheru- 
bim. He was only annoyed and embarrassed by the inter- 
ruption, though he endured it. 

“ Ah,” he said, with condescension, “ and so you are 
Dr. Grimstone’s little girl, are you ? How d’ye do, my 
dear ? ” 

Dulcie stopped and looked at him, with drawn eye- 
brows, and her soft mouth quivering, “ What makes you 
talk like that ? ” she asked. 

“ How ought I to talk ? ” said Paul. 

“ You didn’t talk like that before,” said Dulcie, plaint- 
ively. “ I — I thought perhaps you’d be glad to see me. 
you were once. And — and — when you went away last 
you asked me to — to — kiss you, and I did, and I wish I 
hadn’t. And you gave me a ginger lozenge with your 
name written on it in lead pencil, and I gave you a cough- 
lozenge with mine ; and you said it was to show that you 
were my sweetheart and I was yours. But I suppose you’ve 
eaten the one I gave you ? ” 

“ This is dreadful ! ” thought Mr. Bultitude. “ What 
shall I do now ? The child evidently takes me for that 
little scoundrel Dick.” “ Tut-tut,” he said aloud, “ little 


DISGRACE. 


7i 


girls like you are too young for such nonsence. You 
ought to think about — about your dolls, and — ah, your 
needlework — not sweethearts ! ” 

“You say that now ! ” cried Dulcie indignantly. “ You 
know I’m not a little girl, and I’ve left off playing with 
dolls — almost. Oh, Dick, don’t be unkind ! You haven’t 
changed your mind, have you ? ” 

“ No,” said Paul, dismally, “ I’ve changed my body. 
But there — you wouldn’t understand. Run away and play 
somewhere, like a good little girl ! ” 

“ I know what it is ! ” said Dulcie. “ You’ve been out 
to parties, or somewhere, and seen some horrid girl . . . 
3' , ou like . . . better than me ! ” 

“ This is absurd, you know,” said Mr. Bultitude. “ You 
can’t think how absurd it is ! Now, you’ll be a very fool- 
ish little girl if you cry. You’re making a mistake. I’m 
not the Dick you used to know ! ” 

“ I know you’re not ! ” sobbed Dulcie. “ But oh, Dick, 
you will be. Promise me you will be ! ” And, to Paul’s 
horror and alarm, she put her arms round his neck, and 
cried piteously on his shoulder. 

“ Good gracious ! ” he cried, “ let me go. Don’t do 
that, for heaven’s sake ! I can hear some one coming. 
If it’s your father it will ruin me ! ” 

But it was too late. Over her head he saw Tipping 
enter the room, and stand glaring at them menacingly. 
Dulcie saw him, too, and sprang away to the window, 
where she tried to dry her eyes unperceived, and then ran 
past him with a hurried good morning, and escaped,, leav- 
ing Paul alone with the formidable Tipping. 

There was an awkward silence at first, which Tipping 
broke by saying, “ What have you been saying to make 
her cry, eh ? ” 

“ What’s that to you, sir ? ” said Paul, trying to keep 
his voice firm. 

“ Why, it’s just this to me,” said Tipping, “ that I’ve 
been spoons on Dulcie myself ever since I came, and she 
never would have a word to say to me. I never could 
think why, and now it turns out to be you ! What do you 
mean by cutting me out like this ? ” I heard her call you 
‘ dear Dick,’ ” 


•72 


VICE VERSA. 


“ Don’t be an ass, sir ! ” said Paul angrily. 

“ Now, none of your cheek, you know ! ” said Tipping 
edging up against him with a dangerous inclination to first 
jostle aggressively, and then maul his unconscious rival. 

“You just mind what I say. I’m not going to have 
Dulcie bothered by a yoimg beggar in the second form ; 
she deserves something better than that, anyway, and I 
tell you that if I once catch you talking to her in the way 
you did just now, or if I hear of her favoring you more 
than any other fellows, I’ll give you the very best licking 
you ever had in your life. So look out ! ” 

At this point the other boys began to straggle down and 
cluster round the fire, and Paul withdrew from the ag- 
grieved Tipping, and looked drearily out of the window 
on the hard road and bare black trees outside. 

“ I must tell the doctor how I’m situated ! ” he thought ; 
“ and yet, directly I open my mouth, he threatens to fiog 
me. If I stay here that little girl will be always trying to 
speak to me, and I shall be thrashed by the red-haired 
boy. If I could only manage to speak out after break- 
fast ! ” 

It was not without satisfaction that he remembered that 
he paid extra for “ meat for breakfast ,’ in his son’s school- 
bills, for he was beginning to look forward to meal-time 
with the natural desire of a young and healthy frame for 
nourishment. 

At eight o’clock the doctor came in and announced 
breakfast, leading the way himself to what was known in 
the school as the “ Dining Hall.” It scarcely deserved 
so high-sounding a name, perhaps, being a long, low room 
on the basement floor, with a big fireplace, fitted with taps 
and baking ovens, which provoked the suspicion that it 
had begun its existence as a back kitchen. 

The doctor took his seat alone at a cross table forming 
the top of one of the two rows of tables, set with white 
cups and saucers, and plates well heaped with the square 
pieces of bread and butter, while Mrs. Grimstone, with 
Dulcie and Tom, sat at the foot of the same row, behind 
two ugly urns of dull block-tin. 

But when Mr. Bultitude, more hungry than he had felt 
for years, found his place at one of the tables, he was dis- 


DISGRACE. 


73 


gusted to find upon his plate— not, as he had confidently 
expected, a couple of plump poached eggs, with their ap- 
petizing contrast of ruddy gold and silvery white, not a 
crisp and crackling sausage or a mottled omelette, not 
even the homely but luscious rasher, but a brace of chill, 
forbidding sardines, floating and grim and headless in 
bilious green oil ! 

It was a fish he positively loathed, nor could it be rea- 
sonably expected that the confidence necessary for a 
declaration was to be begotten by so sepulchral a form of 
nutriment. 

He roused himself, however, to swallow them, together 
with some of the thin and tin-flavored coffee. But the 
meal as a whole was so different from the plentiful, well- 
cooked breakfasts he had sat down before for years, as 
a matter of course, that it made him feel extremely un- 
well. 

No talking was allowed during the meal. The doctor 
now and then looked up from his dish of kidneys on toast 
(at which envious glances were occasionally cast) to ad- 
dress a casual remark to his wife across the long row of 
plates and cups, but, as a rule, the dull, champing sound 
of boys solemnly and steadily munching was all that broke 
the silence. 

Toward the end, when the plates had been generally 
cleared, and the boys sat staring with the stolidity of re- 
pletion at one another across the tables, the junior house- 
master, Mr. Tinkler, made his appearance. He had lately 
left a small and little known college at Cambridge, where 
he had contrived, contrary to expectation, to evade the un- 
coveted wooden spoon by just two places, which enabled 
the doctor to announce himself as being “ assisted by a 
graduate of the University of Cambridge, who has taken 
honors in the Mathematical Tripos.” 

For the rest, he was a small, insignificant-looking person, 
who evidently disliked the notice his late appearance drew 
upon himself. 

“ Mr. Tinkler,” said the doctor, in his most awful voice, 
“ if it were my custom to rebuke my assistants before the 
school (which it is not), I should feel forced to remind you 
that this tardiness in rising is a bad beginning of the day’s 


74 


VICE VERSA. 


work, and set’s a bad example to those under your author- 
ity.” 

Mr. Tinkler made no articulate reply, but sat down with 
a crushed expression, and set himself to devour bread and 
butter with an energy which he hoped would divert atten- 
tion from his blushes ; and almost immediately the doctor 
looked at his watch, and said, “ Now, boys, you have half- 
an-hour for ‘ chevy’ — make the most of it. When you 
come in I shall have something to say to you all. Don’t 
rise, Mr. Tinkler, unless you have quite finished.” 

Mr. Tinkler preferred leaving his breakfast to continu- 
ing it under the trying ordeal of his principal’s inspection. 
So, hastily murmuring that he had “ made an excellent 
breakfast,” — which he had not — he followed the others, 
who clattered upstairs to put on their boots and go out 
into the playground. 

It was noticeable that they did so without much of the 
enthusiasm which might be looked for from boys dismissed 
to their sports. But the fact was that this particular sport, 
“ chevy,” commonly known as “ prisoner’s base,” was by 
no means a popular amusement, being of a somewhat 
monotonous nature, and calling for no special skill on the 
part of the performers. Besides this, moreover, it had the 
additional disadvantage (which would have been fatal to a 
far more fascinating diversion) of being in a great meas- 
ure compulsory. 

Football and cricket were of course reserved for half- 
holidays, and played in a neighboring field rented by the 
doctor, and in the playground he restricted them to 
“ chevy,” which he considered, rightly enough, both gave 
them abundant exercise and kept them out of mischief. 
Accordingly, if any adventurous spirit started a rival game, 
it was usually abandoned sooner or later in deference to 
suggestions from headquarters which were not intended to 
be disregarded. 

This, though undoubtedly well meant, did not serve to 
stimulate their affection for the game, an excellent one in 
moderation, but one which, if played “by special desire,” 
two or three hours a day for weeks in succession, is apt to 
lose its freshness and pall upon the youthful mind. 

It was a bright morning. There had been a hard frost 


DISGRACE. 


75 


during the night, and the ground was hard, sparkling with 
rime and ringing to the foot. The air was keen and invig- 
orating, and the bare, black branches of the trees were 
outlined clear and sharp against the pale, pure blue of the 
moriiing sky. 

Just the weather for a long day’s skating over the dark- 
green, glassy ice, or a bracing tramp on country roads into 
cheery, red-roofed market towns. But now it had lost all 
power to charm. It was only depressing by the contrast 
between the boundless liberty suggested and the dull real- 
ity of a round of uninteresting work which was all it 
heralded. 

So they lounged listlessly about, gravitating finally to- 
ward the end of the playground, where a deep furrow 
marked the line of the base. There was no attempt to 
play. They stood gossiping in knots, grumbling and 
stamping their feet to keep warm. By-and-by the day- 
boarders began to drop in one by one, several of them, 
from a want of tact in adapting themselves to the general 
tone, earning decided unpopularity at once by a cheerful 
briskness, and an undisguised satisfaction at having some- 
thing definite to do once more. 

If Mr. Tinkler, who had joined one of the groups, had 
not particularly distinguished himself at breakfast, he 
made ample amends now, and by the grandeur and manli- 
ness of his conversation succeeded in producing a decided 
impression upon some of the smaller boys. 

“ The bore of a place like this, you know,” he was saying, 
with magnificent disdain, “is that a fellow can’t have his 
pipe of a morning. I’ve been used to it, and so, of course, 
I miss it. If I chose to insist on it, Grimstone couldn’t 
say anything ; but with a lot of young fellows like you, 
you see, it wouldn’t look well ! ” 

It could hardly have looked worse than little Mr. Tink- 
ler himself would have done, if he had ventured upon the 
mildest of cigarettes, for he was a poor but pertinacious 
smoker, and his love for the weed was chastened by 
wholesome fear. There, however, he was in no danger of 
betraying this, and indeed it would have been injudicious 
to admit it.” 

“ Talking of smoking,” he went on, with a soft chuckle^ 


76 


VICE VERSA. 


as at recollections of unspeakable deviltry, “ did I ever 
tell you chaps of a tremendous scrape I very nearly got 
into up at the ’Varsity ? Well, you must know there’s a 
foolish rule there against smoking in the streets. Not 
that that made any difference to some of us ! Well, one 
night about nine, I was strolling down Petty Cury with 
two other men, smoking (Bosher of ‘ Pothouse,’ and 
Peebles of ‘ Cats,’ both pretty well known up there for 
general rowdiness, you know — dear old friends of mine !) 
and, just as we turned the corner, who should we see 
coming straight down on us but a proctor with his bull- 
dogs (not dogs, you know, but the strongest 4 gyps ’ in 
college.) Bosher said 4 Let’s cut it ! ’ and he and Peebles 
bolted. (They were neither of them funks, of course, 
but they lost their heads.) I went calmly on, smoking my 
cigar as if nothing was the matter. That put the proctor 
in a bait, I can tell you ! He came fuming up to me. 

4 What do you mean, sir,’ says he, quite pale with anger 
(he was a great, bull-headed fellow, one of the strongest 
dons of his year, that’s why they made him a proctor — 
4 what do you mean by breaking the University statutes 
in this way ? ’ ‘ It’s a fine evening,’ said I (I was deter- 

mined. to keep cool.) 4 Do you mean to insult me ? ’ said 
he. 4 No,’ old boy,’ said I, 4 I don’t; have a cigar? ’ He 
couldn’t stand that, so he called up his bull-dogs. 4 1 give 
him in charge ! ’ he screamed out. ‘ I’ll have him sent 
down ! ’ 4 I’ll send you down first,’ said I, and I just 

gave him a push — I never meant to hurt the fellow — and 
over he went. I rolled over a bull-dog to keep him com- 
pany, and, as the other fellow didn’t want any more and 
stood aside to let me pass, I finished my stroll and my 
cigar.” 

44 Was the proctor hurt, sir ? ” inquired a small boy with 
great respect. 

44 More frightened than hurt, I always said,” said Mr. 
Tinkler, lightly, 44 but somehow he never would proctorize 
any more — it spoilt his nerve. He was a good deal 
chaffed about it, but of course no one ever knew I’d had 
anything to do with it ! ” 

With such tales of Homeric exploit did Mr. Tinkler 
inculcate a spirit of discipline and respect for authority. 


DISGRACE . 


77 


But although he had indeed once encountered a proctor, 
and at night, he did himself great injustice by this version 
of the proceedings, which were, as a matter of fact, of a 
most peaceable and law-abiding character, and, though 
followed by a pecuniary transaction the next day in which 
six-and-eightpence changed pockets, the proctors con- 
tinued their duties much as before, while Mr. Tinkler’s 
feelings toward them, which had ever been reverential in 
the extreme, were, if anything, intensified by the experi- 
ence. 

Upon this incident, however, he had gradually em- 
broidered the above exciting episode, until he grew to 
believe at intervals that he had really been a devil of a 
fellow in his time, which, to do him justice, was far from 
the case. 

He might have gone on still further to calumniate him- 
self, and excite general envy and admiration thereby, if at 
that moment Dr. Grimstone had not happened to appear 
at the head of the cast-iron staircase that led down into 
the playground ; whereupon Mr. Tinkler affected to be 
intensely interested in the game, which, as a kind of 
involuntary compliment to the principal, about that time 
was galvanized into a sort of vigor. 

But the doctor, after frowning gloomily down upon 
them for a minute or so, suddenly called, “ All in ! ” 

He had several ways of saying this. Sometimes he 
would do so in a half-regretful tone, as one himself obey- 
ing the call of duty ; sometimes he would appear for some 
minutes, a benignant spectator, upon the balcony, and 
summon them to work at length with a lenient pity — for 
he was by no means a hard-hearted man ; but at other 
times he would step sharply and suddenly out and shout 
the word of command with a grim and ominous ex- 
pression. On these last occasions, the school generally 
prepared itself for a rather formidable quarter of an hour. 

This was the case now, and, as a further portent, Mr. 
Blinkhorn was observed to come down and, after a few 
words with Mr. Tinkler, withdrew with him through the 
school gate. 

“ He’s sent themout for a walk,” said Siggers, who was 
skilled in omens. . “ It’s a row I ” 


78 


VICE VERSA. 


Rows at Crichton House, although periodical, and 
therefore things to be forearmed against in some degree, 
were serious matters. Dr. Grimstone was a quick-tem- 
pered man, with a copious flow of words and a taste for 
indulging it. He was also strongly prejudiced against 
many breaches of dicipline which others might have con- 
sidered trifling, and whenever he had discovered any such 
breach he could not rest until by all the means in his 
power he had ascertained exactly how many were impli- 
cated in the offense, and to what extent. 

His usual method of doing this was to summon the 
school formally together and deliver an elaborate ha- 
rangue, during which he worked himself by degrees into 
such a state of indignation that his hearers were most of 
them terrified out of their senses, and very often con- 
scious-stricken offenders would give themselves up as hope- 
lessly detected and reveal transgressions altogether un- 
suspected by him — much as a net brings up fish of all 
degrees of merit, or as heavy firing will raise drowned 
corpses to the surface. 

Paul naturally knew nothing of this peculiarity ; he had 
kept himself as usual apart from the others, and was now 
trying to compel himself to brave the terrors of an avowal 
at the first opportunity. He followed the others up the 
steps with an uneasy wonder whether, after all, he 
would not find himself ignominiously set down to learn 
lessons. 

The boys filed into the schoolroom in solemn silence, 
and took their seats at the desks and along the brown 
tables. The doctor was there before them, standing up 
with one elbow resting upon a reading-stand, and with 
a suggestion of coming thunder in his look and attitude 
that, combined with the oppressive silence, made some of 
the boys feel positively ill. 

Presently he began. He said that, since they had come 
together again, he had made a discovery concerning one 
among them which, astounding as it was to him, and pain- 
ful as he felt it to be compelled to make it known, con- 
cerned them all to be aware of. 

Mr. Bultitude could scarcely believe his ears. His 
secret was discovered, then ; the injury done him by Dick 


DISGRACE. 


79 


about to be repaired, and open restitution and apology 
offered him ! It was hot perhaps precisely delicate on 
the doctor’s part to make so public an affair of it, but, 
so long as it ended well, he could afford to overlook 
that. 

So he settled himself comfortably on a form with his 
back against a desk and. his legs crossed, his expression 
indicating plainly that he knew what was coming, and, on 
the whole, approved of it. 

“ Ever since I have devoted myself to the cause of 
tuition,” continued the doctor, “ I have made it my object 
to provide boys under my roof with fare so abundant and 
so palatable that they should have no excuse for obtaining 
extraneous luxuries. I have presided myself at their meals, 
I have superintended their very sports with a fatherly 
eye ” 

Here he paused, and fixed one or two of those nearest 
him with the fatherly eye in such a manner that they 
writhed with confusion. 

“ He’s wandering from the point,” thought Paul, a little 
puzzled. 

“ I have done all this on one understanding — that the 
robustness of your constitutions, acquired by the plain, 
simple, but abundant regimen of my table, shall not be 
tampered with by the indulgence in any of the pampering 
products of confectionery*, They are absolutely and un- 
conditionally prohibited — as every boy who hears me now 
knows perfectly well ! ” 

“ And yet ” (here he began gradually to relax his self- 
restraint and lash himself into a frenzy of indignation), 
“ what do I find ? There are some natures so essentially 
base, so incapable of being affected by kindness, so dead 
to honor and generosity, that they will not scruple to 
conspire or set themselves individually to escape and 
baffle the wise precautions undertaken for their benefit. 
I will not name the dastards at present — they themselves 
can look into their hearts and see the guilt reflected 
there — ” 

At this, every boy, beginning to see the tendency of his 
denunciations, tried hard to assume an air of conscious 


So 


VICE VERSA. 


innocence and grieved interest, the majority achieving 
conspicuous failure. 

“ I do not like to think,” said Dr. Grimstone, “ that the 
evil has a wider existence than I yet know of. It may be 
so ; nothing will surprise me now. There may be some 
before me trembling with the consciousness of secret 
guilt. If so, let those boys make the only reparation in 
their power, and give themselves up in an honorable and 
straightforward manner ! ” 

To this invitation, which indeed resembled that of the 
duck-destroying Mrs. Bond, no one made any response. 
They had grown too wary, and now preferred to play a 
waiting game. 

“ Then let the being — for I will not call him boy — who 
is known to me, step forth and confess his fault publicly, 
and sue for pardon ! ” thundered the doctor, now warm to 
his theme. 

But the being declined from a feeling of modesty, and a 
faint hope that somebody else might, after all, be the per- 
son aimed at. 

“ Then I name him ! ” stormed Dr. Grimstone ; “ Cor- 
nelius Coggs — stand up ! ” 

Coggs rose in a limp manner, whimpering feebly, “ Me, 
sir ? Oh, please sir — no, not me, sir ! ” 

“ Yes, you, sir, and let your companions regard you with 
the contempt and abhorrence you so richly merit 1 ” Here, 
needless to say, the whole school glared at poor Coggs 
with as much virtuous indignation as they could summon 
up at such short notice ; for contempt is very infectious 
when communicated from high quarters. 

“ So, Coggs,” said the doctor, with a slow and withering 
scorn, “ so you thought to defy me ; to smuggle com- 
pressed illness and concentrated unhealthiness into this 
school with impunity ? You flattered yourself that, after I 
had once confiscated your contraband poisons, you would 
hear no more of it! You deceived yourself, sir ! I tell 
you, once for all, that I will not allow you to contaminate 
your innocent schoolmates with your gifts of surreptitious 
sweetmeats ; they shall not be perverted with your per- 
nicious peppermints, sir ; you shall not deprave them by 
the subtile and insiduous jujube, or by the cheap but 


DISGRACE. 


81 

cloying Turkish Delight ! I will not expose myself or 
them to the inroads of disease invited here by a hypo- 
critical inmate of my walls. The traitor shall have his 
reward ! ” 

All of which simply meant that the doctor, having once 
had a small boy taken seriously ill from the effects of 
overeating himself, was naturally anxious to avoid such an 
inconvenience for the future. “ Thanks to the fearless hon- 
esty of a youth,” continued the doctor, “ who, in an eccen- 
tric manner certainly, but with, I do not doubt, the best of 
motives, opened my eyes to the fell evil, I am enabled to 
cope with it at its birth. Richard Bultitude, I take this 
occasion of publicly thanking and commending you ; your 
conduct was noble ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude was too angry and disappointed to speak. 
He had thought his path was going to be made smooth, 
and now all this ridiculous fuss was being made about a 
few peppermint lozenges. He wished he had never men- 
tioned them. It was not the last time he breathed that 
wish. “ As for you, Coggs,” said the doctor, suddenly pro- 
ducing a little brown cane, “ I shall make a public exam- 
ple of you.” 

Coggs stared idiotically and protested, but after a short 
and painful scene was sent off to his bedroom, yelping like 
a kicked puppy. 

“ On my word,” said the doctor, now almost calm again. 
“ I know that you all think with me in your horror of the 
treachery I have just exposed. I know that you would 
scorn to participate in it.” (A thrill and murmur, expres- 
sive of intense horror and scorn, went round the benches.) 
“ You are anxious to prove that you do so beyond a 
doubt.” (Again a murmur of assent.) “ I give you all 
that opportunity. I have implicit trust and confidence in 
you — let every boarder go down into the box-room and 
fetch up his playbox, just as it is, and open it here 
before me. ’ 

There was a general fall of jaws at this very unexpected 
conclusion ; but, contriving to overcome their dismay, they 
went outside and down through the play-ground into the 
box-room, Paul among the rest, and, amid universal con- 
fusion, every one opened his box, and, with a considera- 
6 


52 


VICE VERSA. 


tion especially laudable in heedless boyhood, thoughtfully 
and carefully removed from it all such dainties as might 
be calculated to shock or pain their proprietor. 

Mr. Bultitude found a key which was labeled “ play-box,” 
and began to open a box which bore Dick’s initials cut 
upon the lid ; without any apprehensions, however, for he 
had given too strict orders to his daughter, to fear that any 
luxuries would be concealed there. 

But no sooner had he raised the lid than he staggered 
back with disgust. It was crammed with cakes, butter- 
scotch, hardbake, pots of jam, and even a bottle of gin- 
ger wine — enough to compromise a chameleon ! 

He set himself to pitch them all out as soon as possible 
with feverish haste, but Tipping was too quick for him. 
“ Hallo ! ” he cried ; “ oh, I say, you fellows, come here ! 
Just look at this ! Here’s this impudent young beggar, 
who sneaked of poor old Coggs for sucking jujubes, and 
very nearly got us all into, a jolly good row, with his own 
box full all the time ; butter-scotch, if you please, and jam, 
and ginger wine ! You’ll just put ’em all back again, will 
you, you young humbug ! ” 

“ Do you use those words to me, sir ? ” said Paul, angrily, 
for he did not like to be called a humbug. 

“ Yes, sir, please, sir,” jeered Tipping ; I did venture to 
take such a liberty, sir.’” 

“ Then it was like your infernal impudence,” growled 
Paul. “ You be kind enough to leave my affairs alone. 
Upon my word, what boys are coming to nowadays ! ” 

“ Are you going to put that truck back ? ” said Tipping 
impatiently. 

“ No, sir, I’m not. Don’t interfere with what you’re not 
expected to understand ! ” 

“ Well, if you won’t,” said Tipping easily, “ I suppose 
we must. Biddlecomb, kindly knock him down, and sit on 
his head while I fill his play-box for him.” 

This was neatly and quickly done. Biddlecomb tripped 
Mr. Bultitude up, and sat firmly on him, while Tipping 
carefully replaced the good things in Dick’s box, after 
which he locked it and courteously returned the key. 
“ As the box is heavy,” he said, with a wicked wink, “ I’ll 
carry it up for you myself,” which he did, Paul follow- 


DISGRACE. 83 

ing, more dead than alive, and too shaken even to expos- 
tulate. 

“ Multitude’s box was rather too heavy for him, sir,” 
explained as he came in ; and Dr. Grimstone, who had 
quite recovered his equanimity, smiled indulgently, and 
remarked that he “ liked to see the strong assisting the 
weak.” 

All the boxes had by this time been brought up, and 
ranged upon the tables, while the doctor went round, 
making an almost formal inspection, like a Custom House 
officer searching compatriots, and becoming milder and 
milder as box after box opened to reveal a fair and inno- 
cent interior. 

Paul’s turn was coming very near, and his heart seemed 
to shrivel like a burst bladder. He fumbled with his key, 
and tried hard to lose it. It was terrible to have one’s 
self to apply the match which is to blow one to the winds. 
If — if — the idea was almost too horrible — but if he, a 
blameless and respectable city merchant, were actually to 
find himself served like the miserable Coggs ! 

At last the doctor actually stood by him. “ Well, my 
boy,” he said, not unkindly, “ I’m not afraid of anything 
wrong here, at any rate.” 

Mr. Bultitude, who had the best reasons for not sharing 
bis confidence, made some inarticulate sounds, and pre- 
tended to have a difficulty in turning the key. 

“ Eh ? Come, open the box,” said the doctor with an 
altered manner. What are you fumbling at it for in 
this — this highly suspicious manner? I’ll open it 
myself.” 

He took the key and opened the lid, when the cakes 
and wine stood revealed in all their damning profusion. 
•The doctor stepped back dramatically. “Hardbake!” 
he gasped ; “ wine, pots of strawberry jam ! Oh, Bulti- 
tude, this is well — vastly well indeed ! So I have nour- 
ished one more viper in my bosom, have I? A crawling 
reptile which curries favor by denouncing the very crin>e 
it conceals in its playbox ! Oh, this is black duplicity! 
Bultitude, I was not prepared for this ! ” 

“ I — I swear I never put them in ! ” protested the un- 
happy Paul. “ I — I never touch such things ; they would 


8 4 


VICE VERSA. 


bring on my gout in half an hour. It's ridiculous to pun- 
ish me. I never knew they were there ! ” 

“ Then why were you so anxious to avoid opening the 
box? ” rejoined the doctor. “No, sir, you’re too ingen- 
ious ; your guilt is clear. Go to your dormitory, and wait 
there till I come to you ! ” 

Paul went up stairs, feeling utterly abandoned and help- 
less. Though a word as to his real character might have 
saved him, he could not have said it, and, worse still, 
knew now that he could not. 

“ I shall be caned,” he told himself, and the thought 
nearly drove him mad. “ I know I shall be caned ! What 
on earth shall I do? ” 

He opened the door of his bedroom. Coggs was rock- 
ing and moaning on his bed in one corner of the room, but 
looked up with red, furious eyes as Paul came in. 

“ What do you want up here ? ” he said savagely. “ Go 
away, can’t you ! ” 

“ I wish I could go away,” said Paul dolefully; “but 
I’m — hum — I’m sent up here too,” he explained, with 
some natural embarrassment. 

“ What ! ” cried Coggs, slipping off his bed and staring 
wildly: “you don’t mean to say you’re going to catch it 
too?” 

“I’ve — ah — every reason to fear,” said Mr. Bultitude 
stiffly, “ that I am indeed going to ‘catch it,’ as you call it.” 

“ Hooray ! ” shouted Coggs hysterically : “ I don’t care 
now. And I’ll have some revenge on my own account as 
well. I don’t mind an extra licking, and you’re in for one 
as it is. Will you stand up to me or not ? ” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Paul. “ Don’t come so 
near. Keep off, you young demon, will you ! ” he cried 
presently, as Coggs, exasperated by all his wrongs, was 
rushing at him with an evidently hostile intent. “ There, 
don’t be annoyed, my good boy,” he pleaded, catch up a 
chair as a bulwark. “ It was a misunderstanding. I wish 
you no harm. There, my dear young friend ! Don’t ! ” 

The “ dear young friend ” was grappling with him and 
attempting to wrest the chair away by brute force. “ When 
I get at you,” he said, his hot breath hissing through the 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 85 

chair rungs, “ I’ll give you the very warmest spanking 
you ever heard of !•” 

# “ Murder ! ” Paul gasped, feeling his hold on the chair 
relaxing. “ Unless help comes, this young fiend will have 
my blood ! ” 

They were revolving slowly round the chair, watching 
each other’s eyes like gladiators, when Paul noticed a 
sudden blankness and fixity in his antagonist’s expression, 
and, looking round, saw Dr. Grimstone’s awful form fram- 
ed in the doorway, and gave himself up for lost. 


CHAPTER VI. 

LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

“ I subscribe to Lucian : ’tis an elegant thing which cleareth up the mind, ex- 
erciseth the body, delights the spectators, which teacheth many comely ges- 
tures, equally affecting the ears, eyes, and soul itself.” — Burton , on Dan- 
cing. 

“ What is this ? ” asked Mr. Grimstone, in his most 
blood-curdling tone, after a most impressive pause at the 
dormitory door. 

Mr. Bultitude held his tongue, but kept fast hold of his 
chair, which he held before him as a defence against either 
party, while Coggs remained motionless in the center of 
the room, with crooked knees and hands dangling im- 
potently. 

“ Will one of you be good enough to explain how you 
come to be found struggling in this unseemly manner ? I 
sent you up here to meditate on your past behavior.” 

“ I should be most happy to meditate, sir,” protested 
Paul, lowering his chair on discovering that there was no 
immediate danger, “ if that — that bloodthirsty young 
ruffian there would allow me to do so. I am going about 
in bodily fear of him, Dr. Grimstone. I want him bound 
over to keep the peace. I decline to be left alone with 
him — he’s not safe ! ” 

“ Is that so, Coggs ? Are you mean and base enough 
to take this cowardly revenge on a boy who has had the 
moral courage to expose your deceit — for your ultimate 


86 


VICE VERSA. 


good — a boy who is unable to defend himself against 
you r ” 

“ He can fight when he chooses, sir,” said Coggs ; 
blacked my eye last term, sir ! ” 

“ I assure you,” said Paul, with the convincing earnest- 
ness of truth, “ that I never blacked anybody’s eye in the 
whole course of my life. I am not — ah — a pugnacious 
man. My age, and — hum — my position, ought to protect 
me from these scandals — 1 ” 

“ You’ve come back this year, sir,” said Dr. Grimstone, 
“ with a very odd way of talking of yourself — an exceed- 
ingly odd way. Unless I see you abandoning it and be- 
having like a reasonable boy again, I shall be forced to 
conclude you intend some disrepect and open defiance 
by it.” 

“ If you would allow me an opportunity of explaining 
my position, sir,” said Paul, “ I would undertake to clear 
your mind directly of such a monstrous idea. I am trying 
to assert my rights, Dr. Grimstone — my rights as a citizen, 
as a householder ! This is no place for me, and I appeal 
to you to set me free. If you only knew one tenth — ” 

“ Let us understand one another, Bultitude,” interrupted 
the doctor. “ You may think it an excellent joke to talk 
nonsense to me like this. But let me tell you there is a 
point where a jest becomes an insult. I’ve spared you 
hitherto out of consideration for the feelings of your ex- 
cellent father, who is so anxious that you should become 
an object of pride and credit to him ; but, if you dare to 
treat me to any more of this bombast about ‘ explaining 
your rights,’ you will force me to exercise one' of mine — 
the right to inflict corporal punishment, sir — which you 
have just seen in operation upon another.” 

“ Oh !” said Mr. Bultitude, faintly, feeling utterly crest- 
fallen — and he could say nothing more. 

“ As for those illicit luxuries in your playbox,” contin- 
ued the doctor, “ the fact that you brought the box up as 
it was is in your favor; and I am inclined on reflection to 
overlook the affair, if you can assure me that you were no 
party to there being put there ? ” 

“On the contrary,” said Paul, “I gave the strictest 
orders that there was t6 be no such useless extravagance. 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 87 

I objected to having the kitchen and housekeeper’s room 
ransacked to make a set of rascally boys ill for a fort- 
night at my expense ! ” 

The doctor stared slightly at this creditable but unnatural 
view of the subject. However, as he could not quarrel 
with the sentiment, he let the manner of expressing it pass 
unrebuked for the present, and, after sentencing Coggs to 
two days’ detention, and the copying of innumerable 
French verbs, he sent the ill-matched pair down to the 
schoolroom to join their respective classes. 

Paul went resignedly down stairs and into the room, 
where he found Mr. Blinkhorn at the head of one of the 
long tables, taking a class of about a dozen boys. 

“Take your Livy and Latin Primer, Bultitude,” said 
Mr. Blinkhorn, mildly, “ and sit down.” 

Mr. Blinkhorn was a tall, angular man, with a long 
neck and slightly drooping head. He had thin, wiry 
brown hair, and a plain face, with shortsighted, kind 
brown eyes. In character he was mild and reserved, too 
conscientious to allow himself the luxury of either favor- 
ites or aversion among the boys, all of whom in his secret 
soul he probably disliked about equally, though he neither 
said nor did anything to show it. 

Paul took a book — any book, for he did not know or 
care to know one from another — and sat down at the end 
farthest from the master, inwardly rebelling at having 
education thus forced upon him at his advanced years, 
but seeing no escape. 

At dinner-time, he resolved,” desperately, “ I will insist 
on speaking out, but just now it is simply prudent to 
humor them.” 

The rest of the class drew away from him with marked 
coldness, and occasionally saluted him (when Mr. Blink- 
horn’s attention was called away) with terms and grimaces 
which Paul, although he failed to thoroughly understand 
them, felt instinctively that they were not intended as 
compliments. 

Mr. Blinkhorn’s notions of discipline were qualified by 
a gentleman’s instinct which forbade him to harass a boy 
already in trouble, as he understood young Bultitude had 


88 


VICE VERSA. 


been, so he forbore from pressing him to take any share 
in the class work. 

Mr. Bultitude, therefore, was saved from any necessity 
of betraying his total ignorance of his author, and sat 
gloomily on the hard form, impatiently watching the 
minute-hand skulk around the mean, dull face of the clock 
above the chimney-piece, while around him one boy after 
another droned out a listless translation of the work 
before him, interrupted by mild corrections and comments 
from the master. 

What a preposterous change from all his ordinary 
habits ! At this very time, only twenty-four hours since, 
he was stepping slowly and majestically toward his ac- 
customed omnibus, which was waiting with deference for 
him to overtake it ; he was taking his seat, saluted 
respectfully by the conductor, and cheerily by his fellow- 
passengers, as a man of recognized mark and position. 

Now that omnibus would halt at the corner of West- 
bourne Terrace in vain, and go on its way Bankward 
without him. He was many miles away — in the very last 
place where any one would be likely to look for him, 
occupying the post of “ whipping-boy ” to his miserable 
son ! 

Was ever an inoffensive and respectable old gentleman 
placed in a more false and ridiculous position ? 

If he had only kept his drawer locked, and hidden the 
abominable Garuda stone away from Dick’s prying eyes ; 
if he had left the moralizing alone ; if Boaler had not 
been so long fetching that cab, or if he had not happened 
to faint at the critical moment — what an immense differ- 
ence any one of these apparent trifles would have 
made ! 

And now, what was he to do to get out of this in- 
congruous and distasteful place ? It was all very well to 
say that he had only to insist upon a hearing from the 
doctor ; but what if, as he had very grave reason to fear, 
the doctor should absolutely refuse to lisen, should even 
proceed to carry out his horrible threat ? Must he remain 
there till the holidays came to release him ? Suppose 
Dick — as he certainly would unless he was quite a fool — 
declined to receive him during the holidays ? It was 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


*9 


absolutely necessary to return home at once ; every 
additional hour he passed in imprisonment made it harder 
to regain his lost self. 

Now and then he roused himself from all these gloomy 
thoughts to observe his companions. The boys at the 
upper end, near Mr. Blinkhorn, were fairly attentive, and 
he noticed one small, smug-faced boy, about half-way up, 
who, while a class-mate was faltering and blundering over 
some question, “ would stretch out a snapping finger and 
thumb, and cry, “ I know, sir. Let me tell him. Ask 
me, sir !” in a restless agony of superior information. 

Down by Paul, however, the dicipline was relaxed 
enough as perhaps could only be expected on the first day 
of term. One wild-eyed, long-haired boy had brought out a 
small china figure, with which, and the assistance of his 
right hand draped in a pocket-handkerchief, and wielding 
a pen-holder, he was busy enacting a drama based on the 
lines of Punch and Judy, to the breathless amusement of 
his neighbors. 

Mr. Bultitude might have hoped to escape notice by a 
policy of judicious self-effacement, but unhappily, his 
long, blank, uninteresting face was held by his compan- 
ions to bear an implied reproach, and being delicately 
sensitive on these points they kicked his legs viciously, 
which made him extremely glad when dinner-time came, 
although he felt too faint and bilious to be tempted by 
anything but the lightest and daintiest luncheon. 

But at dinner he found, with a shudder, that he was 
expected to swallow a thick, ragged section of boiled 
mutton, which had been carved and helped so long before 
he sat down to it, that the stagnant gravy was chilled and 
congealed into patches of greasy white. 

He managed to swallow it with many pauses of invinci- 
ble disgust, only to find it replaced by a solid slab of pale 
brown suet pudding, sparsely bedewed with unctuous 
black treacle. 

This, though a plentiful, and by no means unwholesome 
fare for growing boys, was not what he had been accus- 
tomed to, and, feeling far too heavy and unwell after it to 
venture upon an encounter with the doctor, he wandered 
slow and melancholy round the bare, graveled playground, 


9 o 


VICE VERSA. 


during the half-hour after dinner devoted to the inevitable 
“ chevy,” until the doctor appeared at the head of the 
staircase. 

It is always sad for the historian to have to record a de- 
parture from principle, and I have to confess with shame, 
on Mr. Bultitude’s account, that, feeling the doctor’s eye 
upon him, and striving to propitiate him, he humiliated 
himself so far as to run about with an elaborate affecta- 
tion of zest, and his exertions were rewarded by hearing 
himself cordially encouraged to further efforts. 

It cheered and emboldened him. “ I’ve put him in a 
good temper,” he told himself ; “ if I can only keep him 
in one till the evening, I really think I might be able to 
go up and tell him what a ridiculous mess I’ve got into. 
Why should I care, after all ? At least I’ve done nothing 
to be ashamed of. It’s an accident that might have hap- 
pened to any man ! ” 

It is a curious and unpleasant thing that, however reas- 
suring and convincing the arguments may be with which 
we succeed in bracing ourselves to meet or disregard un- 
pleasantness, the force of those arguments seldom or 
never outlasts the frame of mind in which they are com- 
posed, and, when the unpleasantness is at hand, there we 
are, just as unreasonably alarmed at it as ever. 

Mr. Bultitude’s confidence faded away almost as soon 
as he found himself in the schoolroom again. He found 
himself assigned to a class at one end of the room, where 
Mr. Tinkler . presently introduced a new rule in Algebra to 
them, in such a manner as to procure for it a lasting un- 
popularity with all those who were not too much engaged 
in drawing duels and railway trains upon their slates to 
attend. 4 

Although Paul did not draw upon his slate, his utter ig- 
norance of Algebra prevented him from being much edi- 
fied by the cabalistic signs on the blackboard, which Mr. 
Tinkler seemed to chalk up dubiously, and rub out again 
as soon as possible, with an air of being ashamed of them. 
So he tried to nerve himself for the coming ordeal by fur- 
tively watching and studying the doctor, who was taking a 
Xenophon class at the upper end of the room, and, being 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS . 


91 

in fairly good humor, was combining instruction with 
amusement, in a manner peculiarly his own. 

He stopped the construing occasionally, to illustrate 
some word or passage by an anecdote ; he condescended 
to enliven the translation here and there by a familiar and 
colloquial paraphrase ; he magnanimously refrained from 
pressing any obviously inconvenient questions, and his 
manner, generally, was marked by a geniality which was 
additionally piquant from its extreme uncertainty. 

Mr. Bultitude could not help thinking it a rather ghastly 
form of gayety, but he hoped it might last. 

Presently, however, some one brought him a long blue 
envelope on a tray. He read it, and a frown gathered on 
his face. The boy who was translating at the time went 
on again in his former slipshod manner (which had hither- 
to provoked only jovial criticism and correction) with com- 
plete self-complacency, but found himself sternly brought 
to book, and burdened by a heavy imposition, before he 
quite realized that his blunders had ceased to amuse. 

Then began a season of sore trial and tribulation for 
the class. The doctor suddenly withdrew the light of his 
countenance from them, and sunshine was succeeded by 
blackest thunder-clouds. The wind was no longer tem- 
pered to the more closely shorn of the flock ; the weakest 
vessels were put on unexpectedly at crucial passages, and, 
coming hopelessly to grief, were denounced as imposters 
and idlers, till half the class was dissolved in tears. 

A few of the better grounded stood the fire, like a rem- 
nant of the Old Guard in the Peninsula. With faces pale 
from alarm, and trembling voices, but perfect accuracy, 
they answered all the doctor’s searching inquiries after the 
paradigms of Greek verbs that seemed irregular to the 
verge of impropriety. 

Paul saw it all with renewed misgiving. “ If I were 
there,” he thought, “ I should have been run out and 
flogged long ago ! How angry those stupid young idiots 
are making him ? How can I go up and speak to him 
when he’s like that ? And yet I must. I’m sitting on 
dynamite as it is. The very first time they want me to 
answer any questions from some of their books, I shall be 
ruined ! Why wasn’t I better educated when I was a boy, 


VICE FEES A. 


9 2 


or why didn’t I make a better use of my opportunities ! It 
will be a better thing if they thrash me for not knowing as 
much as Dick. Grimstone’s coming this way now ; it’s all 
over with me ! ” 

The Greek class had managed to repel the enemy, with 
some loss to themselves, and the doctor now left his place 
for a moment, and came down toward the bench on which 
Paul sat trembling. 

The storm, however, had passed over for the present, 
and he only said, with restored calmness, “ Who were the 
boys who learned dancing last term ? ” 

One or two of them said they had done so, and Dr. 
Grimstone continued : “ Mr. Burdekin was unable to give 
you the last lesson of his course last term, and has ar- 
ranged to take you to-day, as he will be in the neighbor- 
hood. So be off at once to Mrs. Grimstone and change 
your shoes. Bultitude, you learned last term, too. Go 
with the others.” 

Mr. Bultitude was too overcome by this unexpected 
attack to contradict it, though of course he was quite able 
to do so ; but then, if he had, he must have explained all, 
and he felt strongly that just then was neither the time 
nor the place for particulars. 

It would have been wiser, perhaps, it would certainly 
have brought matters to a crisis, if he could have forced 
himself to tell everything — the whole truth in all its out- 
rageous improbability — but he could not. 

Let those who feel inclined to blame him for lack of 
firmness consider how difficult and delicate a business it 
must almost of necessity be for any one to declare openly, 
in the teeth of common sense and plain facts, that there 
has been a mistake, and, in point of fact, he is not his own 
son, but his own father. 

“ I suppose I must go,” he thought. “ I needn’t dance. 
Haven’t danced since I was a young man. But I can’t 
afford to offend him just now.” 

And so he followed the rest into a sort of cloak-room, 
where the tall hats which the boys wore on Sundays were 
all kept on shelves in white bandboxes ; and there his 
hair was brushed, his feet were thrust into very shiny 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


93 


patent leather shoes, and a pair of kid gloves were given 
out to him to put on. 

The dancing lesson was to be held in the “ Dining 
Hall,” from which the savor of mutton had not altogether 
departed. When Paul came in he found the floor cleared 
and the tables and forms piled up on one side of the 
room. 

Biddlecomb and Tipping and some of the smaller boys 
were there already,' their gloves and shiny shoes giving 
them a feeling of ceremony and constraint which they 
tried to carry off by an uncouth parody of politeness. 

Siggers was telling slories of the dances he had been to 
in town, and the fine girls, whose step had exactly suited 
his own, and Tipping was leaning gloomily against the 
wall, listening to something Chawner was whispering in 
his ear. 

There was a rustle of dresses down the stairs outside, 
and two thin little girls, looking excessively proper and 
prim, came in with an elderly gentlewoman, who was their 
governess, and wore a pince-nez, to impart the necessary 
suggestion of a superior intellect. They were the Miss 
Mutlows, sisters of one the day-boarders, and attended 
the course by special favor as friends of Dulcie’s, who fol- 
lowed them in with a little gleam of shy anticipation in 
her eyes. 

The Miss Mutlows sat stiffly down on a form, one on 
each side of her governess, and all three stared solemnly 
at the boys, who began to blush vividly under the inspec- 
tion, to unbutton and rebutton their gloves with great care, 
and to shift from leg to leg in an embarrassed manner. 

Dulcie soon singled out poor Mr. Bultitude, who, mind- 
ful of Tipping’s warning, was doing his very best to avoid 
her. 

She ran straight to him, laid her hand on his arm, and 
looked into his face pleadingly. “ Dick ” she said, 
“ you’re not sulky still, are you ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude had borne a good deal already, and, not 
being remarkably sweet-natured, he shook the little mit- 
tened hand away, half-petulant and half-alarmed. “ I do 
wish you wouldn’t do this sort of thing in public. You’ll 
compromise me, you know ! ” he said, nervously. 


94 


VICE VERSA. 


Dulcie opened her gray eyes wide, and then a flush 
came into her cheeks, and she made a little disdainful up- 
ward movement of her chin. 

“ You didn’t mind it once,” she said. I thought you 
might want to dance with me. You liked to last term. 
But I’m sure I don’t care if you choose to be disagreeable. 
Go and dance with Mary Mutlow if you want to, though 
you did say she danced like a pair of compasses, and I 
shall tell - her you said so, too. And you know you’re not 
a good dancer vourself. Are you going to dance with 
Mary ? ” 

Paul stamped. “ I tell you I never dance,” he said. 
“ I can’t dance any more than a lamp-post. You don’t 
seem an ill-natured little girl, but why on earth can’t you 
let me alone ? ” 

Dulcie’s eyes flashed. “‘You’re a nasty sulky boy,” she 
said, in an angry undertone (all the conversation had, of 
course, been carried on in whispers). “ I’ll never speak 
to you or look at you again. You’re the most horrid boy 
in the school — and the ugliest ! ” 

And she turned proudly away, though any one who 
looked might have seen the fire in her eyes extinguished 
as she did so. Perhaps Tipping did see it, for he scowled 
at them from his corner. 

There was another sound outside, as of fiddle-strings 
being twanged by the finger, and, as the boys hastily 
formed up in two lines down the center of the room and 
the Miss Mutlows and Dulcie prepared themselves for the 
courtesy of state, there came in a little fat man, with mut- 
ton-chop whiskers and a white face, upon which was writ- 
ten an unalterable conviction that his manners and deport- 
ment were perfection itself. 

The two rows of boys bent themselves stiffly from the 
back, and Mr. Burdekin returned the compliment by an 
inclusive and stately inclination. 

“ Good afternoon, madam. Young ladies, I trust I find 
you well. (The courtesy just a leetle lower, Miss Mutlow 
— the right foot less drawn back. Beautiful ! Feet closer 
at the recovery. Perfect !) Young gentlemen, good eve- 
ning. Take your usual places, please, all of you, for our 
preliminary exercises. Now, the chassee round the room. 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


95 


Will you lead off, please, Master Dummer ; the hands just 
lightly touching the shoulders, the head thrown negligently 
back to balance the figure ; the whole deportment easy, 
but not careless. Now, please. 

And, talking all the time with a metrical fluency, he 
scraped a little jig on the violin, while Dummer led off a 
procession which solemnly capered round the room in 
sundry stages of concious awkwardness. Mr. Bultitude 
shuffled along somehow after the rest, with rebellion at 
his heart and a deep sense of degradation. “ If my clerks 
were to see me now ! ” he thought. 

After some minutes of this, Mr. Burdekin stopped them 
and directed sets to be formed for “ The Lancers.” 

“ Master Bultitude,” said Mr. Burdekin, “ you will take 
Miss Mutlow, please.” 

“ Thank you,” said Paul, “ but — ah — I don’t dance.” 

“ Nonsense, nonsense, sir, you are one of my most 
promising pupils. You musn’t tell me that. Not another 
word ! Come, select your partners.” 

Paul had no option. He was paired off with the tall 
and rather angular young lady mentioned, while Dulcie 
looked on pouting, and snubbed dipping, who humbly 
asked for the pleasure of dancing with her, by declaring 
that she meant to dance with Tom. 

The dance began to a sort of rythmycal accompaniment 
by Mr. Burdekin, who intoned, “ Tops advance, retire and 
— cross. Balance at corners. (Very nice, Miss Grimstone !) 
More ‘ abandon ,’ Master Chawner ! Lift the feet more 
from the floor. Not so high as that ! Oh, dear me ! that 
last figure over again. And slide the feet, oh, slide the 
feet ! (Master Bultitude, you’re leaving out all the 
steps !)” 

Paul was dragged, unwilling but unresisting, through it 
all by his partner, who jerked and pushed him into his 
place without a word, being apparently under strict orders 
from the governess not on any account to speak to the 
boys. 

After the dance, the couples promenaded in a stiff but 
stately manner round the room to a dirge-like march 
scraped upon the violin, the boys taking the part of ladies 
jibbing away from their partners in a highly unlady-like 


96 


VICE VERSA. 


fashion, and the boy burdened with the companionship of 
the younger Miss Mutlow walking along in a very agony 
of bashfulness. 

“ I suppose,” thought Paul, as he led the way with Miss 
Mary Mutlow, “ if Dick were ever to hear of this, he’d 
think • it funny. Oh, if I ever get the upper hand of him 
again — How much longer, I wonder, shall 1 have to 
play the fool to this infernal fiddle ! ” 

But, if this was bad, worse was to come. 

There was another pause, in which Mr. Burdekin said 
blandly, “ I wonder now if we have forgotten our Scotch 
hornpipe. Perhaps Master Bultitude will prove the con- 
trary. If I remember right, he used to perform it with 
singular correctness. And, let me tell you, there are a 
great number of spurious hornpipe steps in circulation. 
Come, sir, oblige me by dancing it alone ! ” 

This was the final straw. It was not to be supposed for 
one moment that Mr. Bultitude would lower his dignity in 
such a preposterous manner. Besides, he did not know 
how to dance the hornpipe. 

So he said, “ I shall do nothing of the sort. I’ve had 
quite enough of this — ah — tomfoolery ! ” 

“ That is a very impolite manner of declining, Master 
Bultitude ; highly discourteous and unpolished. I must 
insist now — really, as a personal matter — upon your 
going through the sailor’s hornpipe. Come, you won’t 
make a scene, I’m sure. You’ll oblige me, as a gentle- 
man ? ” 

“ I tell you I can’t,” said Mr. Bultitude, sullenly. “ I 
never did such a thing in my life ; it would be enough to 
kill me at my age ! ” 

“ This is untrue, sir. Do you mean to say you will not 
dance the hornpipe ? ” 

“ No,” said Paul, “ I’ll be d d if I do.” 

There was, unfortunately, no possible doubt about the 
nature of the word used — he said it so very distinctly. 
The governess screamed and called her charges to her, 
Dulcie hid her face, and some of the boys tittered. 

Mr. Burdekin turned pink. “ After that disgraceful 
language, sir, in the presence of the fairer sex, I have no 
more to do with you. You will have the goodness to stand 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


97 


in the center of that form. Gentlemen, select your part- 
ners for the Highland schottische ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude, by no means sorry to be freed from the 
irksome necessity of dancing with a heart ill-attuned for 
enjoyment, got up on the form and stood looking, sullenly 
enough, upon the proceedings. The governess -glowered 
at him now and then as a monster of youthful depravity ; 
the Miss Mutlows glanced up at him as they tripped past, 
with curiosity not unmixed with admiration, but Dulcie 
steadily avoided looking in his direction. 

Paul was just congratulating himself upon his escape, 
when the door opened wide, and the doctor marched 
slowly and imposingly into the room. 

He did this occasionally, partly to superintend matters, 
ai d partly as an encouraging mark of approbation. He 
looked round the class at first with benignant toleration, 
until his glance took in the bench upon which Mr. Bulti- 
tude was set up. Then his eye slowly traveled up to the 
level of Paul’s head, his expression changing meanwhile 
to a petrifying glare. 

It was not, as Paul instinctively felt, exactly the position 
in which a gentleman who wished to stand well with those 
in authority over him would prefer to be found. He felt 
his heart turn to water within him, and stared limp and 
helpless at the doctor. 

There was an awful silence (Dr. Grimstone was ad- 
dicted to awful silences ; and, indeed, if seldom strictly 
“ golden,” silence may often be called “ iron ”), but at 
last he inquired, “ And pray what may you be doing up 
there, sir ? ” 

“ Upon my soul I can’t say,” said Mr. Bultitude, feebly. 
“ Ask that gentleman there with the fiddle — he knows.” 

Mr. Burdekin was a good-natured., easy-tempered little 
man, and had already forgotten the affront to his dig- 
nity. He was anxious not to get the boy into any more 
trouble. 

“ Master Bultitude was a little inattentive and, I may 
say, wanting in respect, Dr. Grimstone,” he said, putting 
it as mildly as he could with any accuracy ; “ so I ventured 
to place him there as a punishment.” 

“ Quite right, Mr. Burdekin,” said the doctor : “ quite 
7 


9 S 


VICE VERSA. 


right. I am sorry that any boy of mine should have 
caused you to do so. You are again beginning your 
career of disorder and rebellion, are you, sir ? ” Go up 
into the school-room at once, and write a dozen copies be- 
fore tea-time ! A very little more eccentricity and insub- 
ordination from you, Bultitude, and you will reap a full 
reward — a full reward, sir ! ” 

So Mr. Bultitude was driven out of the dancing class 
in dire disgrace — which would not have distressed him 
particularly, being only one more drop in his bitter cup — - 
but that he recognized that now his hopes of approaching 
the doctor with his burden' of woe were fallen like a card 
castle. They were fiddled and danced away for at least 
twenty-four hours — perhaps forever. 

Bitterly did he brood over this as he slowly and labori- 
ously copied out sundry vain repetitions of such axioms 
as, “ Cultivate Habits of Courtesy and Self-control,” and 
“ True happiness is to be sought in Contentment.” He 
saw the prospect of a tolerably severe flogging growing 
more and more distinct, and felt that he could not present 
himself to his family "with the consciousness of having 
suffered such an indelible disgrace. His family ! What 
would become of them in his absence ? Would he ever 
see his comfortable home in Bayswater again ? 

“ Tea-time came, and after it evening preparation, when 
Mr. Tinkler presided in a feeble and ineffective manner, 
perpetually suspecting that the faint sniggers he heard 
were indulged in at his own expense, and calling perfectly 
innocent victims to account for them. 

Paul sat next to Jolland, and in his desperate anxiety 
to avoid further unpleasantness, found himself, as he could 
not for his life have written a Latin or Greek composition, 
reduced to copy down his neighbor’s exercises. This 
Jolland (who h*ad looked forward to an arrangement of a 
very opposite kind) nevertheless cheerfully allowed him to 
do, though he expressed doubts as to the wisdom of a 
servile imitation — more, perhaps, from prudence than 
conscientiousness. 

Jolland, in the intervals of study, was deeply engaged 
in the production of a small illustrated work of fiction, 
which he was pleased to call “ The Adventures of Ben 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


99 


Buterkin at Scool.’ It was in a great measure an autobi- 
ography, and the cuts depicting the hero’s flagellations — 
which were frequent in the course of the narrative — were 
executed with much vigor and feeling. 

He turned out a great number of these works in the 
course of the term, as well as faces in pen and ink with 
moving tongues and rolling eyes, ond these he would pre- 
sent to a few favored friends with a secretive and self- 
deprecatory giggle. 

Amid scenes and companions like these, Paul sat out 
the evening hours on his hard seat, which was just at the 
junction of two forms — an exquisitely uncomfortable 
position, as all who have tried it will acknowledge — until 
the time for going to bed came round again. He dreaded 
the hours of darkness, but there was no help for it ; to 
protest would have been madness just then, and, once 
more, he was forced to pass a night under the roof of 
Crichton House. 

It was even worse than the first, though this was greatly 
'owing to his own obstinacy. 

The boys, if less subdued, were in better temper than 
the evening before, and found it troublesome to keep up 
a feud when the first flush of resentment had died out. 
There was a general disposition to forget his departure 
from the code of schoolboy honor, and give him an oppor- 
tunity of retrieving the past. 

But he would not meet them half-way ; his repeated re- 
pulses by the doctor, and all the difficulties that beset his 
return to freedom, had made him very sulky and snappish. 
He had not patience or adaptability enough to respond 
to their advances, and only shrank from their rough good 
nature — which naturally checked the current of good 
feeling. 

Then, when the lights were put out, some one demanded 
a story. Most of the bedrooms possessed a professional 
story-teller, and in one there was a young romancist who 
began a stirring history the very first night of the term, 
which always ran on until the night before the holidays, 
and, if his hearers were apt to yawn at the sixth week of 
rt, he himself enjoyed and believed in it keenly from be- 
ginning to end. 


too 


VICE VERSA. 


Dick Bultitude had been a valued raconteur , it appeared, 
and his father found accordingly, to his disgust, that he 
was expected to amuse them with a story. When he 
clearly understood the idea, he rejected it with so savage 
a snarl that he soon found it necessary to retire under the 
bedclothes to escape the general indignation that 
followed. 

Finding that he did not actively resent it (the real Dick 
would have had the occupant of the nearest bed out by 
the ears in a minute ! ), they profited by his prudence to 
come to his bedside, where they pillowed his weary head 
(with their own pillows) till the slight offered them was 
more than avenged. 

After that, Mr. Bultitude, with the breath half beaten 
out of his body, lay writhing and spluttering on his hard, 
rough bed till long after silence had fallen over the ad- 
joining beds, and the sleepy hum of talk in the other bed- 
rooms had died away. 

Then he, too, drifted off into wild and troubled dreams, 
which, at their maddest, were scattered into blankness by 
a sudden and violent shock, which jerked him, clutching 
and grasping at nothing, on to the cold, bare boards, 
where he rolled, shivering. 

“ An earthquake ! ” he thought, “ an explosion . . . 
gas — or dynamite ! He must go and call the children 
. . . Boaler . . . the plate ! ” 

But the reality to which he woke was worse still. Tip- 
ping and Coker had been patiently pinching themselves to 
keep awake until their enemy should be soundly asleep, 
in order to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of letting down 
the mattress ; and, too dazed and frightened even to 
swear, Paul gathered up his bedclothes and tried to draw 
them about him as well as he might, and seek sleep, 
which had lost its security. 

The Garuda Stone had done one grim and cruel piece 
of work at least in its time. 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


ioi 


CHAPTER VII. 

CUTTING THE KNOT. 

“ A Crowd is not Company ; And Faces are but a Gallery of Pictures ; And 
Talke but a Tinckling Cymball , where there is no Love .” — Bacon. 

Once more Mr. Bultitude rose betimes, dressed noise- 
lessly, and stole down to the cold school-room, where one 
gas-jet was burning palely — for the morning was raw and 

foggy.- 

This time, however, he was not alone. Mr. Blinkhorn 
was sitting at his little table in the corner, correcting ex- 
ercises, with his chilly hands cased in worsted mittens. 
He looked up as Paul came in, and nodded kindly. 

Paul went straight to the fire, and stood staring into it 
with a lack-lustre eye, too apathetic even to be hopeless, 
for the work of enlightening the doctor seemed more ter- 
rible and impossible than ever, and he began to see that, 
if the only way of escape lay there, he had better make up 
his mind with what philosophy he could to adopt himself 
to his altered circumstances, and stay on for the rest of 
the term. 

But the prospect was so doleful and so blank that he 
drew a heavy sigh as he thought of it. Mr. Blinkhorn 
heard it, and rose awkwardly from the rickety little writ- 
ing-table, knocking over a little pile of marble-covered 
copy-books as he did so. 

Then he crossed over to Paul, and laid a hand gently 
on his shoulder. “ Look here,” he said : “ why don’t you 
confide in me ? Do you think I’m blind to what has hap- 
pened to you ? I can see the change in you — if others 
can not. Why not trust me ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude looked up into his face, which had an 
honest interest and kindliness in it, and his heart warmed 
with a faint hope. If this young man had been shrewd 
enough to guess at his unhappy secret, might he not be 
willing to intercede with the doctor for him ? He looked 
good-natured — he would trust him. 


102 


VICE VERSA. 


“ Do you mean to say really,” he asked, with more cor- 
diality than he had used for a long time, “ that you — see 
— the — a — the difference ? ” 

“ I saw it almost directly,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, with 
mild triumph. 

“ That’s the most extraordinary thing,” said Paul, “ and 
yet it ought to be evident enough, to be sure. But no, 
you can’t have guessed the real state of things ? ” 

“ Listen, and stop me if I’m wrong. Within the last 
few days a great change has been at work within you. 
You are not the idle, thoughtless, mischievous boy who 
left here for his holidays — ” 

“ No,” said Paul, “ I’ll swear I’m not ! ” 

“ There is no occasion for such strong expressions. But, 
at all events, you come back here an altogether different 
being. Am I right in saying so ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” said Paul, overjoyed at being so thoroughly 
understood, “ perfectly. You’re a very intelligent young 
man, sir. Shake hands. Why, I shouldn’t be surprised, 
after that, if you knew how it all happened ? ” 

“ That, too,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, smiling, “ I can guess. 
It arose, I doubt not, in a wish ? ” 

“ Yes,” cried Paul, “you’ve hit it again. You’re a con- 
jurer, sir, by Gad you are ! ” 

“ Don’t say ‘ by Gad,’ Bultitude ; it’s inconsistent. It 
began, I was saying, in a wish, half unconscious perhaps, 
to be something other than what you had been — ” 

“ I was a fool,” groaned Mr. Bultitude, “ yes, that was 
the way it began ! ” 

“ Then insensibly the wish worked a gradual trans- 
formation in your nature (you are old enough to follow 
me ?) ” 

“ Old enough for him to follow me!” thought Paul ; but 
he was to pleased to be annoyed. “ Hardly gradual, I 
should say,” he said aloud. “ But go on, sir, pray go on. 

I see you know all about it.” 

“At first the other part of you .struggled against the 
new feelings. You strove to forget them — you even tried 
to resume your old habits, your former way of life — but to 
no purpose ; and when you came here you found no fellow- 
ship among your companions — ” 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


103 


“ Quite out of the question ! ” said Paul. 

“ Their pleasures give you no delight — ” 

“ Not a bit ! ” 

“ They, on their side, perhaps misunderstood your lack 
of interest in their pursuits. They can not see — how 
should they— that you have altered your mode of life, and 
when they catch the difference between you and the Rich- 
ard Bultitude they knew, why, they are apt to resent 
it.” 

“ They are,” agreed Mr. Bultitude : ” they resent it in a 
confounded disagreeable way, you know. Why, I assure 
you that only last night I was — ” 

“ Hush said Mr. Blinkhorn, holding up one hand ; 
“ complaints are unmanly. But I see you wonder at my 
knowing all this ? ” 

“ Well,” said Paul, “ I am rather surprised.” 

“ What would you say if I told you I had undergone it 
myself in my time ? ” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me there are two Garud& 
Stones in this miserable world ! ” cried Paul, thoroughly 
astonished. 

“ I dont know what you mean now, but I can say with 
truth that I too have had my experience — my trials. 
Months ago, from certain signs I noticed, I foresaw that 
this was coming upon you.” 

“Then,” said Mr. Bultitude,” I think, in common 
decency, you might have warned me. A post-card would 
have done it. I should have been better prepared to meet 
this, then ! ” 

“ It would have been worse than fruitless to attempt to 
hurry on the crisis. It might have even prevented what 
I fondly hoped would come to pass.” 

“ Fondly hoped ! ” said Paul ; “ upon my word you speak 
plainly, sir.” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Blinkhorn. “ You see I knew the Dick 
Bultitude that was, so well ; he was frolicsome, impulsive, 
mischievous even, but under it all there lay a nature of 
sterling worth.” 

“ Sterling worth ! ” cried Paul. “ A scoundrel, I tell 
you, a heartless, selfish young scoundrel ! Call things by 
their right names, if you please.” 


i©4 


VICE VERSA. 


“ No, no,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, “ this extreme self-de- 
preciation is morbid, very morbid. There was no actual 
vice.” 

“ No actual vice ! Why, God bless my soul, do you 
call ingratitude — the basest, most unfilial, most treacher- 
ous ingratitude — no vice, sir ? You may be a very excel- 
lent young man, but if you gloss over things in that 
fashion your moral sense must be perverted, sir — 
strangely perverted.” 

“ There were faults on both sides, I fear,” said Mr. 
Blinkhorn, growing a little scandalized by the boy’s odd 
warmth of expression. “ I have heard something of 
what you had to bear with. On the one hand, a father, 
undemonstrative, stern, easily provoked ; on the other, 
a son, thoughtless, forgetful, and at times it may be 
even willful. But you are too sensitive ; you think too 
much of what seems to me a not unnatural (although, of 
course, improper) protest against coldness and injus- 
tice. I should be the last to encourage a child against 
a parent, but, to comfort your self-reproach, I think it 
right to assure you that, in my judgment, the outburst 
you refer to was very excusable.” 

“ Oh,” said Paul, you do ? You call that comfort ? 
Excusable ? Why, what the dooce do you mean, sir ? 
You’re taking the other side now ! ” 

“ This is not the language of penitence, Bultitude,” 
said poor Mr. Blinkhorn, disheartened and bewildered. 

“ Remember, you have done with your old self 
now ! ” 

“ Don’t say that,” said Paul ; “ I don’t believe it ! ” 

“ You want to be your old self again ? ” gasped Mr. 
Blinkhorn. 

“ Why, of course I do,” said Paul, angrily ; “ I’m not 
an idiot ! ” 

“ You are weary of the struggle so soon ? ” said the 
other, with reproach. 

“ Weary ? I tell you I’m sick of it ! If I had only 
known what was in store for me before I had made 
such a fool of myself ! ” 

“ This is horrible 1 ” said Mr. Blinkhorn — “ I ought 
not to listen to you.” 


CUTTING THE KNOT 


105 

“ But you must,” urged Paul ; “ I tell you I can’t 
stand it any longer. I’m not fit for it at my age. You 
must see that yourself, and you must make Grimstone 
see it too ? ” 

“ Never ! ” said Mr. Blinkhorn, firmly. “ Nor do I 
see how that would help you. I will not let you go back 
in that deplorable way. You must nerve yourself to go 
on now in the path you have chosen ; you must force 
your schoolfellows to love and respect you in your new 
character. Come, take courage ! After all, in spite of 
your altered life, there is no reason why you should not 
be a frank and happy-hearted boy, you know.” 

“ A frank and happy-hearted fiddle-stick ! ” cried Paul, 
rudely (he was so disgusted at the suggestion) ; “ don’t 
talk rubbish, sir ! I thought you were going to show me 
some way out of all this, and, instead of that, knowing 
the shameful way I’ve been treated, you can stand there 
and calmly recommend me to stay on here and be happy- 
hearted and frank ! ” 

“ You must be calm, Bultitude, or I shall leave you. 
Listen to reason. You are here for your good. 
Youth, it has been beautifully said, is the springtime of 
life. Though you may not believe it, you will never be 
happier than you are now. Our schooldays are — ” 

But Mr. Bultitude could not tamely be mocked with the 
very platitudes that had brought him all his misery — he 
cut the master short in a violent passion. “ This is to 
much ! ” he cried. “ You shall not palm off that misera- 
ble rubbish on me. I see through it. It’s a plot to keep 
me here, and you’re in it. It’s false imprisonment, and 
I’ll write to the ‘Times.’ I’ll expose the whole thing ! ” 

“ This violence is only ridiculous,” said Mr. Blinkhorn. 
“ If I were not too pained by it, I should feel it my duty 
to report your language to the doctor. As it is, you 
have bitterly disappointed me ; I can’t understand it at all. 
You seemed so subdued, so softened lately. But, until 
you come to me and say you regret this, I must decline to 
have anything more to say to you. Take your book and 
sit down in your place ! ” 

And he went back to his exercises, looking puzzled and 


io6 


. VICE VERSA. 


pained. The fact was, he was an ardent believer in the 
Good Boy of certain order of school tales — the boy who 
is seized with a sudden conviction of the intrinsic base- 
ness of boyhood, and does all in his power to get rid of 
the harmful taint ; the boy who renounces his old com- 
rades and his natural tastes (which after all seldom have 
any serious harm in them), to don a panoply of priggish- 
ness which is too often kick-proof. 

This kind of boy is rare enough at most English 
schools, but Mr. Blinkhorn had been educated at a large 
Nonconformist college, where “ revivals ” and “ awaken- 
ings ” were periodical, and undoubtedly did produce 
changes of character violent enough, but sadly short in 
duration. 

He was always waiting for some such boy to come to 
him with his confession of moral worthlessness and vows 
of unnatural perfection, and was too simple and earnest 
and good himself to realize that such states of the youth- 
ful mind are not unfrequently merely morbid and hysteri- 
cal, and too often degenerate into Pharisaism, or worse 
still, hypocracy. 

So when he noticed Mr. Bultitude’s silence and depres- 
sion, his studied withdrawal from the others and his evi- 
dent want of sympathy with them, he believed he saw the 
symptoms of a conscience at work, and that he had fo.und 
his reformed boy at last. 

It was a very unfortunate misunderstanding, for it sepa- 
rated Paul from, perhaps, the only person who would have 
had the guilelessness to believe his incredible story, and 
the good nature to help him to find escape from his mis- 
fortunes. 

Mr. Bultitude on his part was more angry and disgusted 
than ever. He began to see that there was a muddle 
somewhere, and that his identity was unsuspected still. 
The young man, for all his fair speaking and pretended 
shrewdness, was no conjurer after all. He was left to rely 
on his own resources, and he had begun to lose all confi- 
dence in their power to extricate him. 

As he brooded over this, the boys straggled down as 
before, and looked over their lessons for the day in a dull, 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


107 


lifeless manner. The cold unsatisfying breakfast and the 
half-hour assigned to “ chevy ” followed in due course, 
and, after that, Paul found himself set down with a class 
to await the German master, Herr Stohwasser. 

He had again tried to pull himself together and ap- 
proach the doctor with his protest, but no sooner did he 
find himself near his presence than his heart began to leap 
wildly and then retired down toward his boots, leaving 
him hoarse, palpitating, and utterly blank of ideas. 

It was no use — and he resigned himself for yet another 
day of unwelcome instruction. 

The class was in a little room on the basement floor, 
with a linen press taking up one side, some bare white 
deal tables and forms, and, on the walls, a few colored 
German prints. They sat there talking and laughing, 
taking no notice of Mr. Bultitude, until the German mas- 
ter made his appearance. 

He was by no means a formidable person, though stout 
and tall. He wore big, round, owlish spectacles, and his 
pale, broad face and long nose, combined with a wild crop 
of light hair and a fierce beard, gave him almost an incon- 
gruous an appearance as if a sheep had looked out of a 
gun-port. 

He took his place with an air of tremendous determin- 
ation to enforce a hard morning’s work on the book they 
were reading — a play of Schiller’s, of the plot of which, 
it is needless to say, no one of his pupils had or cared to 
have the vaguest notion, having long since condemned the 
whole subject, with insular prejudice, as “ rot.” 

“ Now, please,” said Herr Stohwasser, “where we left 
off last term. Third act, first scene — Court before Tell’s 
house. Tell is with the carpenter axe, Hedwig with a 
domestic labor occupied. Walter and Wilhelm in the 
deep sport with a fiddle gross-bow. Biddlegom you begin. 
Walter (sings).” 

But Biddlecomb was in a conversational mood, and will- 
ing to postpone the task of translation, so he merely 
inquired with an air of extreme interest, how Herr Stoh- 
wasser’s German grammar was getting on. 

This was a subject on which (as he perhaps knew) the 
German never could resist enlarging, for, in common with 


VICE VERSA. 


108 

most German masters, he was giving birth to a new gram- 
mar, which, from the daring originality of its plan, and its 
extreme simplicity, was destined to supersede all other 
similar works. 

“ Ach,” he said, “ it is brogressing, I haf just gom- 
pleted a gomprehensive table of ze irregular virps, vith ze 
eggserzizes upon zem. And zere is further an appendeeks 
which in itself gontains a goncise view of all ze vort-plays 
possible in ze Charman tong. But, come, let us gontinue 
vith our Tell ! ” 

“ What are vort-plays ? ” persisted Biddlecomb in- 
sidiously, having no idea of continuing with Tell just 
yet. 

“ A vort-play,” explained Herr Stohwasser ; “ it is Eng- 
lish, nicht so ? A sporting vith vorts — a ‘ galembour ’ — a 
— Gott pless me, vat you call a ‘ pon.’ ” 

“ Like the one you made when you were a young 
man ? ” Jolland called out from the lower end of the 
table. 

“ Yes, tell us the one you made when you were a 
young man ! ” the class entreated with flattering eager- 
ness. 

Herr Stohwasser began to laugh with slow, deep satis- 
faction ; the satisfaction of a successful achievement. 
“ Hah, you remember dat ! ” he said, “ ah, yes, I make 
him when a yong man ; but, mind you, he was not a 
pon — he was a ‘ choke? I haf told you all about him 
before.” 

“ We’ve forgotten it,” said Biddlecomb : “ tell it us 
again.” 

As a matter of fact, this joke, in all its lights, was tol- 
erably familiar to most of them by this time, but, either 
on its individual merits, or perhaps because it compared 
favorably with the sterner alternative of translating, it was 
periodically in request, and always met with evergreen 
appreciation. 

Herr Stohwasser beamed with the pride of author- 
ship. Like the celebrated Scotchman, he “ jacked wi’ 
deeficulty,” and the outcome of so much labor was dear 
to him. 

“ I zent him into ze Charman ‘ Kladderadatch 1 (it is a 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


109 

paper like your ‘ Ponch ’). It — mein choke — was upon ze 
Schleswig-Holstein gomplication ; ze beginning was in this 
way — ” 

And he proceeded to set out in great length all the 
circumstances which had given materials for his 
“ choke,” with the successive processes by which he had 
shaped and perfected it, passing on to a recital of the 
masterpiece itself, and ending up by a philosophical 
analysis of the same, which must have placed his pupils 
in full possession of the point, for they laughed consum- 
edly, 

“ I tell you zis,” he said, “ not to aggustom your minds 
vith frivolity and lightness, but as a lesson in ze gonstruc- 
tion of ze langwitch. If you can choke in Charm an, you 
vil also be able to gonverse in Charman.” 

“ Did the German what’s-its-name print your joke ? ” 
inquired Coggs. 

“ It has not appeared yet,” Herr Stohwasser confessed : 
“ it takes a long time to get an imbortant choke like that 
out in print. But I vait — I write to ze editor every veek 
— and I vait.” 

“ Why don’t you put it in your grammar ? ” suggested 
Tipping. 

“ I haf — ze greater part of it — (it vas a long choke, 
but I gompressed him). If I haf time, some day I will 
make anozer liddle choke to aggompany, because I vant 
my Crammar to be a goot Crammar, you understandt. 
And now to our Tell. Really you people do noding but 
chatter ! ” 

All this, of course, had no interest for Mr. Bultitude, 
but it left him free to pursue his own thoughts in peace, 
and indeed this lesson would never have been recorded 
here, but for two circumstances which will presently 
appear, both of which had no small effect on his for- 
tunes. 

He sat nearest the window, and looked out on the 
pinched and drooping laurels in the inclosure, which were 
damp with frost melting in the February sunshine. Over 
the wall he could see the tops of passing vehicles, the 
country carrier’s cart, the railway parcels van, the fly 


IO 


VICE VERSA. 


from the station. He envied even the drivers ; their lot 
was happier than his ! 

His thoughts were busy with Dick. Oddly enough, it 
had scarcely occurred to him before to speculate on what 
he might be doing in his absence ; he had thought chiefly 
about himself. But, now he gave his attention to the sub- 
ject, what new horrors it opened up ! What might not 
become of his well-conducted household under the rash 
rule of a foolish schoolboy ? The office, too — who could 
say what mischief Dick might not be doing there, under 
the cover of his own respectable form ? 

Then it might seem good to him any day to smash the 
Garuda stone, and after that there would be no hope of 
matters being ever set right again ! 

And yet, miserable coward and fool that he was, with 
everything depending upon his losing no tim^ to escape, 
he could not screw up his courage, and say the words that 
were to set him free. 

All at once — and this is one of the circumstances that 
make the German lesson an important stage irt this stoiy 
— an idea suggested itself to him quite dazzling by its 
daring and brilliancy. 

Some may wonder, when they hear what it was, why he 
never thought of it before, and it is somewhat surprising, 
but by no means without precedent. Mark Twain has 
told us somewhere of a ferocious bandit who (was confined 
for sixteen years in solitary captivity, before the notion of 
escape ever occurred to him. When it did, he simply 
opened the window and got out. 

Perhaps a similar passiveness on Mr. Bultitude’s part 
was due to a very natural and proper desire to do every- 
thing without scandal, and in a legitimate manner ; to 


Perhaps it 
it was not till 
ost position, 
po si- 


march out, as it were, with the honors of wan 
was simple dullness. The fact remains that 
then that he saw a way of recovering his 
without the disagreeable necessity of disclosing his 
tion to any one at Crichton House. 

He had still — thank Heaven — the five shi lings he had 
given Dick. He had not thrown them away vith the other 
articles in his mad passion. Five shillings vas not much, 
but it was more than enough to pay for a thlird-class fare 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


iii 


to town. He had only to watch his opportunity, slip away 
to the station, and be at home again, defying the usurper, 
before any one at Crichton House had discovered his 
absence. 

He might go that very day, and the delight of this 
thought — the complete reaction from blank despair to hope 
— was so intense that he could not help rubbing his hands 
stealthily under the table, and chuckling with glee at his 
own readiness of resource. 

When we are most elated, however, there is always a 
counteracting agent at hand to bring us down again to 
our proper level, or below it. The Roman general in the 
triumph never really needed the slave in the chariot to 
dash his spirits — he had his friends there already ; the 
guests at an Egyptian dinner must have brought their own 
skeletons. 

There was a small, flaxen-haired little boy sitting next 
to Mr. Bultitude, seemingly a quiet, inoffensive being, who 
at this stage served to sober him by furnishing another 
complication 

“ Oh, I sa/, Bultitude,” he piped shrilly in Paul’s ear, 
“ I forgot all about it. Where’s my rabbit ? ” 

The unreasonable absurdity of such a question annoyed 
him excessivdy. “ Is this a time,” he said reprovingly “ to 
talk of rabbits ? Mind your book, sir.” 

“ Oh, I daresay,” grumbled little Porter, the boy in 
question : “ its all very well, but I want my rabbit.” 

“ Hang it, sir,” said Paul angrily, “ do you suppose I’m 
sitting on it ? ’ 

“ You promised to bring me back a rabbit,” persist' d 
Porter doggedy; “you know you did, and it’s a b< stly 
shame. I mem to have that rabbit, or know the teas^- 
why.” 

At the othet end of the table Biddlecomb he in 
dexterously alured Herr Stohwasser into the -> of 

conversation ; this time upon the qua ion ; > opos dcs 
bottes ) of stree: performances, “ I v ' 1 tc ! x gurious 

thing,” he was saying, “vat happ<". . ' e ,e ozer day, 
ven I was waiting down ze Strr l a leedle, gom- 

mon, dirty bo) vith a tall round cat an, and he stand 
in a side stree right out in ze ro nd he take off his 


112 


VICE VERSA. 


tall round hat and he put it on ze grount, and he stand 
still and look so at it. So I stop too, to see vat he would 
do next. And presently he take out a large sheet of pa- 
per and tare it in four pieces very garefully, and stick zem 
round ze tall round hat, and put it on his head again, and 
zen he set it down on ze grount and look at it vonce more, 
and all ze time he never speak von vort. And I look and 
look and vonder vat he vould do next. And a great 
growd of peoples com, and zey look and vonder too. And 
zen all at once ze leedle dirty boy he take out all ze paper 
and put on ze hat, and he valk avay, laughing altogether 
foolishly at zomzing I did not understand at all. I haf 
been thinking efer since vat in de vorldt he df) all zat non- 
sense for. And zere is von ozer gurious thing I see in 
your London streets zat very same day. Zer<i vas a poor 
house cat vat had been by a cab overrun as 1 passed by, 
and von man vith a kind varm heart valk up and stamp it 
on ze head for to end its pain. And anozer in an vith an- 
ozer kind heart, he gom up directly and had /not seen ze 
cat overrun, but he see ze first man stamping, and he 
knock him down for ill-treating animals ; jit vas quite 
gurious to see ; till ze policeman arrest zem Ijoth for fight- 
ing. Coggs, degline ‘ Katze,’ and gif me ze/ 1 berfect and 
bast barticiple of ‘ kampfen,’ to fight.” This last relapse 
into duty was caused by the sudden entranc^ of the doc- 
tor, who stood at the door looking on for sone time with 
a general air of being intimately acquainted with Schiller 
as an author, before suggesting graciously tlat it was time 
to dismiss the class. 

Wednesday was a half-holiday at Crichtoli House, and 
so, soon after dinner, Paul found himself marshaled with 
the rest in procession bound for the footbal 
marched two by two, Chawner and three of 
boys leading with the ball and four goal-posts ornamented 
with colored calico flags, and Mr. Blinkljorn and Mr. 
Tinkler bringing up the rear. 

Mr. Bultitude was paired with Tom G 
after eying him askance for some time, coud 
curiosity no longer. 

“ I say, Dick,” he began, “ what’s the miter with you 
this term ? ” 


field. They 
he other elder 


imstone, who, 
control his 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


1 13 


“ My name is not Dick,” said Paul stiffly. 

“ Oh, if you’re so particular, then,” said Tom: “but, 
without humbug, what is the matter ? ” 

“You see a change, then,” said Paul, “you do see a 
difference, eh ? ” 

“ Rather ! ” said Tom, expressively. “ You’ve come 
back what I call a beastly sneak, you know, this term. 
The other fellows didn’t like it ; they’ll send you to Cov- 
entry unless you take care.” 

“ I wish they would,” said Paul. 

“ You don’t talk like the same fellow, either,” continued 
Tom ; “ you use such fine language, and you’re always in 
a bait, and yet you don’t stick up for yourself as you used 
to. Look here, tell me (we were always chums), is it one 
of your larks ? ” 

“ Larks ! ” said Paul, “ I’m in a fine mood for larks. 
No, it’s not one of my larks.” 

“ Perhaps your old governor has been making a 
cad of himself, then, and you’re out of sorts about it.” 

“ I’ll thank you not to speak about him in that way,” 
said Paul, “ in my presence.” 

“ Why,” grumbled Tom, “ I’m sure you said enough 
about him yourself last term. It’s my belief you’re imi- 
tating him now.” 

“ Ah,” said Paul, “ and what makes you think so ? ” 

“ Why, you go about strutting and swelling just like he 
did when he came about sending you here. I say, do you 
know what ma said about him after he went away ? ” 

“ No,” said Paul, “ your mother struck me as a very 
sensible and agreeable woman — if I may say so to her 
son.” 

“Well, ma said your governor seemed to leave you 
here just like they leave umbrellas at picture-galleries, 
and she believed he had a large-sized money-bag inside 
him instead of a heart.” 

“ Oh.” said Paul, with great disgust, for he had thought 
Mrs. Grimstone a woman of better taste ; “ your mother 
said that, did she ? Vastly entertaining, to be sure — ha, 
ha ! He would be pleased to know she thought that, I’m 
sure / 7 


8 


ii4 


VICE VERSA. 


“ Tell him, and see what he says,” suggested Tom ; 
“ he’s an awful brute to you, though, isn’t he ? ” 

“ If,” growled Mr. Bultitude, “ slaving from morning 
till night to provide education and luxury for a thankless 
brood of unprofitable young vipers is ‘ being a brute ’ I 
suppose he is.” 

“ Why, you’re sticking up for him now ! ” said Tom. 
“ I thought he was so strict with you. Wouldn’t let you 
have any fun at home, and never took you to pan- 
tomimes ? ” 

“ And why should he, sir, why should he ? Tell me 
that. Tell me why a man is to be hunted out of his 
comfortable chair, after a well-earned dinner, to go and 
sit in a hot theatre and a thorough draught, yawning at 
the miserable drivel managers choose to call a pantomime ? 
Now, in my young days, there were pantomines. I tell 
you, sir, I’ve seen — ” 

“ Oh, if you’re satisfied, I don’t care ! ” said Tom, 
astonished at this apparent change of front. “ If you 
choose to come back and play the corker like this, it’s 
your lookout. Only if you knew what Sproule major said 
about you just now — ” 

“ I don’t want to know,” said Paul, “ it doesn’t concern 
me.” 

“ Perhaps it doesn’t concern you what pa thinks, 
either ? Pa told ma last night that he was altogether at a 
loss to know how to deal with you, you had come back so 
queer and unruly. And he said, let me see, oh, he said 
that “ if he didn’t see an alteration very soon he should 
resort to more drastic measures ’ — drastic measures is 
Latin for a whooping.” 

“ Good gracious,” thought Paul, “ I haven’t a moment 
to lose ; he might resort to ‘ drastic measures ’ this very 
evening. I can’t change my nature at rpy time of life. I 
must run for it, and soon.” 

Then he said aloud to Tom, “ Can you tell me, my, 
my — my young friend, if, supposing a boy were to ask to 
leave the field — saying, for instance, that he was not 
well, and thought he should be better at home — whether 
he would be allowed to go ? ” 

“ Of course he would,” said Tom, “ you ought to know 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


n 5 

that by this time. You’ve only to ask Blinkhorn or Tink- 
ler ; they’ll let you go right enough.” 

Paul saw his course quite clearly now, and was overcome 
with relief and gratitude. He wrung the astonished Tom’s 
hand warmly ; “Thank you,” he said, briskly and cheer- 
fully, “thank you. I’m really uncommonly obliged to 
you. You are a very intelligent boy. I should like to give 
you sixpence.” 

But, although Tom used no arguments to dissuade him, 
Mr. Bultitude remembered his position in time, and 
prudently refrained from such ill-judged generosity. Six- 
pences were of vital importance now, when he expected 
to be starting so soon on his perilous journey. 

And so they reached the field where the game was to 
be played, and where Paul resolved to have one desperate 
throw for liberty and home. He was more excited than 
anxious as he thought of it, and it certainly did seem 
as if all the chances were in his favor, and that fortune 
must have forsaken him, indeed, if anything were allowed 
to prevent his escape. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

UNBENDING THE BOW. 

“ I pray you, give me leave to go from hence, 

I am not well .” — Merchant of Venice. 

“ He will not blush that has a father’s heart, 

To take in childish plays a childish part ; 

But bends his sturdy back to any toy 

That youth takes pleasure in, — to please his boy.” 

The football field was a large one, bounded on two 
sides by tall wooden palings, and on the other two by a 
hedge and a new shingled road, separated from the field 
by a post and rails. 

Two of the younger boys, proud of their office, raced 
down to the further end. to set up the goal-posts. The 
rest lounged idly about without attempting to begin oper- 
ations, except the new boy Kiffin, who was seen walking 
apart from the rest, dilligently studying the “ rules of the 


VICE VERSA. 


116 

game of football,” as laid down in a small “ Boy’s Own 
Pocket Book and Manual of Out-door Sports,” with 
which he had been careful to provide himself. 

At last Tipping suggested they had better begin, and 
proposed that Mr. Blinkhorn and himself should toss up 
for the choice of sides, and, this being done, Mr. Bulti- 
tude presently, to his great dismay, heard his name men- 
tioned. “ I’ll have young Bultitude,” said Tipping “ he 
used to play up decently. Look here, you young beggar, 
you’re on my side, and if you don’t play up, it will be the 
worse for you.” 

It was not worth while, however, to protest, since he 
would so soon be rid of the whole crew for ever, and so 
Paul followed Tipping and his train with dutiful submis- 
sion, and the game began. 

It was not a very spirited performance. Mr. Tinkler, 
who was not an athlete, retired at once to the post and 
rails, on which he settled himself to enjoy a railway novel 
with a highly stimulating cover. Mr. Blinkhorn, who had 
more conscientious views of his office, charged about vig- 
orously, performing all kinds of wonders with the ball, 
though evidently more from a sense of duty than with any 
idea of enjoyment. 

Tipping occasionally took the trouble to oppose him, 
but as a concession merely, and with a parade of being 
under no necessity to do so ; and these two, with a very 
small following of enthusiasts on either side, waged a pri- 
vate and confidential kind of warfare in different parts of 
the field, while the others made no pretence of playing 
for the present, but strolled about in knots, exchanging 
and bartering the treasures valuable in the sight of school- 
boys, and gossiping generally. 

As for Paul, he did not clearly understand what “ play- 
ing up ” might mean. He had not indulged in football 
since he was a genuine boy, and then only in a rudiment- 
ary and primitive form, and without any particular fond- 
ness for the exercise. But being now, in spirit at all 
events, a precise old gentleman, -with a decided notion of 
taking care of himself, he was resolved that not even Tip- 
ping should compel him to trust his person within range 
of that dirty brown globe, which whistled past his ear or 


UNBENDING THE BO W. 


n 7 

seemed spinning toward his stomach with such a hideous 
suggestion of a cannon-ball about it. 

All the ghastly instances, too, of accidents to life and 
limb in the football field came unpleasantly into his mem- 
ory, and he saw the inadvisability of mingling with the 
crowd and allowing himself to be kicked violently on the 
shins. 

So he trotted industriously about at a safe distance in 
order to allay suspicion, while waiting for a good oppor- 
tunity to put his scheme of escape into execution. 

At last he could wait no longer, for the fearful thought 
occurred to him that, if he remained there much longer, 
the doctor — who, as he knew from Dick, always came to 
superintend, if not to share, the sports or his pupils — 
might make his appearance, and then his chance would be 
lost for the present, for he knew too well that he should 
never find courage to ask permission from him. 

With a beating heart he went up to Mr. Tinkler, who 
was still on the fence with his novel, and asked as humbly 
as he could bring himself to do : 

“ If you please, sir, will you allow me to go home ? I’m 
— I’m not feeling at all well.” 

“Not well! What’s the matter with you?” said Mr. 
Tinkler, without looking up. 

Paul had not prepared himself for details, and the sud- 
den question rather threw him off his guard. 

“ A slight touch of liver,” he said at length. “ It 
takes me after meals sometimes.” 

“ Liver ! ” said Mr. Tinkler, “ you’ve no right to such a 
thing at your age ; it’s all nonsense, you know. Run in 
and play, that’ll set you up again.” 

“It’s fatal, sir,” said Paul. “My doctor expressly 
warned me against taking any violent exercise soon after 
luncheon. If you knew what liver is, you wouldn’t say 
so ! ” 

Mr. Tinkler stared, as well as he might, but making 
nothing of it, and being chiefly anxious not to be inter- 
rupted any longer, only said, “ Oh, well, don’t bother me ; 
I daresay it’s all right. Cut along ! ” 

So Mr. Bultitude was free ; the path lay open to him 
now. He knew he would have little difficulty in finding 


n8 


VICE VERSA. 


his way to the station, and once there, he would have the 
whole afternoon in which to wait for a train to town. 

“ I’ve managed that excellently,” he thought, as he ran 
blithely off, almost like the boy he seemed. “ Not the 
slightest hitch. I defy the Fates themselves to stop me 
now ! ” 

But the Fates are ladies, and — not of course that it fol- 
lows — occasionally spiteful. It is very rash indeed to be 
ungallant enough to defy them — they have such an un- 
pleasant habit of accepting the challenge. 

Mr. Bultitude had hardly got clear of the groups scat- 
tered about the field, when he met a small flaxen-haired 
boy, who was just coming down to join the game. It was 
Porter, his neighbor of the German lesson. 

“There you are, Bultitude, then,” he said, in his 
squeaky voice ; “ I want you.” 

“ I can’t stop,” said Paul, “ I’m in a hurry — another 
time.” 

“ Another time won’t do,” said little Porter, laying hold 
of him by his jacket. “ I want that rabbit.” 

This outrageous demand took Mr. Bultitude’s breath 
away. He had no idea what rabbit was referred to, or 
why he should be required to produce such an animal at a 
moment’s notice. This was the second time an incon- 
venient small boy had interfered between him and liberty. 
He would not be baffled twice. He tried to shake off his 
persecutor. 

“ I tell you, my good boy, I haven’t such a thing about 
me. I haven’t indeed. I don’t even know what you’re 
about.” 

This denial enraged Porter. 

“ I say, you fellows,” he called out, “ come here ! Do 
make Bultitude give me my rabbit. He says he doesn’t 
know anything about it now ! ” 

At this several of the loungers came up, glad of a dis- 
traction. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” some of them asked. 

“ Why,” whined Porter, “ he promised to bring me back 
a rabbit this term, and now he pretends he does not know 
anything about it. Make him say what he’s done with it ! ” 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


119 

Mr. Bultitude was not usually ready of resource, but 
now he had what seemed a happy thought. 

“ Gad ! ” he cried, pretending to recollect it, “ so I did 
— to be sure, a rabbit, of course, how could I forget it ? 
It’s — it’s a splendid rabbit. I’ll go and fetch it ! ” 

“ Will you,” cried Porter, half relieved, “where is it, 
then ? ” 

“ Where ? ” said Paul, sharply (he was growing posi- 
tively brilliant). “ Why, in my playbox to be sure ; where 
should it be ? ” 

“ It isn’t in your playbox, I know,” put in Siggers: “ be- 
cause I saw it turned out yesterday, and there was no rab- 
bit then. Besides, how could a rabbit live in a playbox ? 
He’s telling lies. I can see it by his face. He hasn’t 
any rabbit ! ” 

“ Of course I haven’t 1 ” said Mr. Bultitude. “ How 
should I ? I’m not a conjurer. It’s not a habit of mine to 
go about with rabbits concealed on my person. What’s 
the use of coming to me like this ? It’s absurd, you know ? 
perfectly absurd ! ” 

“ The crowd increased until there was quite a ring 
formed round Mr. Bultitude and the indignant claimant, 
and presently Tipping came bustling up. 

“ What’s the row here, you fellows ? ” he said. “ Bul- 
titude again, of course. What’s he been doing now T ” 

“ He had a rabbit he said he was keeping for me,” ex- 
plained little Porter : “ and now he won’t give it up dr tell 
me what he’s done with it.” 

“ He has some mice he ought to give us, too,” said one 
or two new comers, edging their way to the front. Mr. 
Bultitude was, of course, exceedingly annoyed by this un- 
looked-for interruption, and still more by such utterly pre- 
posterous claims on him for animals ; however, it was eas} 
to explain that he had no such things in his possession, and 
after that of course no more could be said. He was be- 
ginning to disclaim all liability, when Siggers stopped 
him. 

“ Keep that for the present,” he said. ” I say, we ought 
to have a regular trial over this, and get at the truth of it 
properly. Let’s fetch him along to the goal-posts and 
judge him 1 ” 


120 


VICE VERSA. 


He fixed upon the goal-posts as being somehow more 
formal, and, as his proposal was well received, two of them 
grasped Mr. Bultitude by the collar and dragged him 
along in procession to the appointed spot between the two 
flags, while Siggers followed in what he conceived to be a 
highly judicial manner, and evidently enjoyed himself 
prodigiously. 

Paul, though highly indignant, allowed himself to be led 
along without resistance. It was safest to humor them, 
for after all it would not last long, and when they were 
tired of baiting him he could watch his time and slip 
quietly away. 

When they reached the goal-posts Siggers arranged 
them in a circle, placing himself, the hapless Paul, and 
his accusers in the center. “ You chaps had better all be 
jurymen,” he said. “ I’ll be judge, and unless he makes 
a clean breast of it,” he added, with judicial impartiality, 
“ the court will jolly well punch his ugly young head 
off.” 

Siggers’s father was an Old Bailey barrister in good and 
rather sharp practice, so that it was clearly the son’s 
mission to preside on this occasion. But unfortunately his 
hour of office was doomed to be a brief one, for Mr. 
Blinkhorn, becoming aware that game was being still more 
scantily supported, and noticing the crowd at the goal, 
came up to know the reason of it at a long, camel-like trot, 
his hat on the back of his head, his mild face flushed with 
exertion, and his pebble glasses gleaming in the winter 
sunshine. 

“ What are you doing here ? Why don’t you join the 
game ? I’ve come here to play football with you, and how 
can I do it if you all slink off and leave me to play by my- 
self ? ” he asked, with pathos. 

“ Please, sir,” said Siggers, alarmed at the threatened 
loss of his dignity, “ it’s a trial, and I’m judge.” 

“ Yes, sir,” the whole ring shouted together. “ We’re 
trying Bultitude, sir. 

On the whole, perhaps, Mr. Bultitude was glad of this 
interference. At least justice would be done now, although 
this usher had blundered so unpardonably that morning. 

“ This is childish, you know,” said Mr, Blinkhorn, 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


I 2 I 


“ and it’s not football. The doctor will be seriously angry 
if he comes and sees you trifling here. Let the boy go.” 

“ But he’s cheated some of the fellows, sir,” grumbled 
Tipping and Siggers together. 

“ Well, you’ve no right to punish him if he has. Leave 
him to me.” 

“ Will you see fair play between them, sir ? He oughtn’t 
to be let off without being made to keep his word.” 

“ If there is any dispute between you and Bultitude,” 
said Mr. Blinkhorn, “ I have no objection to settle it — 
provided it is within my province.” 

“ Settle it without me,” said Paul, hurriedly. “ I’ve 
leave to go home. I’m ill.” 

“ Who gave you leave to go home ? ” asked the master. 

“ That young man over there on the rails,” said Paul. 

“ I am the proper person to apply to for leave ; you 
know that well enough,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, with a 
certain coldness in his tone. “ Now then, Porter, what is 
all this business about ? ” 

“ Please, sir,” said Porter, “ he told me last term he had 
a lot of rabbits at home, and if I liked he would bring me 
back a lop-eared one and let me have it cheap, and I gave 
him two shillings, sir, and sixpence for a hutch to keep it 
in ; and now he pretends he doesn’t know anything about 
it!” 

To Paul’s horror two or three other boys came forward 
with much the same tale. He remembered now that 
during the holidays he had discovered that Dick was 
maintaining a sort of amateur menagerie in his bedroom, 
and that he had ordered the whole of the live stock to be 
got rid of or summarily destroyed. 

Now it seemed that the wretched Dick had already dis- 
posed of it to these clamorous boys, and, what was worse, 
had stipulated with considerable forethought for payment 
in advance. For the first time he repented his paternal 
harshness. Like the netted lion, a paltry white mouse or 
two would have set him free ; but, less happy than the 
beast in the fable, he had not one ! 

He tried to stammer out excuses. “ It’s extremely un- 
fortunate,” he said, “ but the fact is I’m not in a position 


122 


VICE VERSA. 


to meet this- — this sudden call upon me. Some other day, 
perhaps — ” 

“ None of your long words, now,” growled Tipping. 
(Boys hate long words as much as even a Saturday Re- 
viewer.) “ Why haven’t you brought the rabbits ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Blinkhorn. “ Why having promised to 
bring the rabbits with you, haven’t you kept your word ? 
You must be able to give some explanation.” 

“ Because,” said Mr. Bultitude, wriggling with embarrass- 
ment, “ I — that is, my father — found out that my young 
rascal of a son — I mean his young rascal of a son 
(me, you know), was, contrary to my express orders, keep- 
ing a couple of abominable rabbits in his bedroom, and a 
quantity of filthy little white mice which he tried to train 
to climb up the banisters. And I kept finding the brutes 
running about my bath-room, and — well, of course, I put 
a stop to it ; and — no, what am I saying ? — my father, of 
course, he put a stop to it ; and, in point of fact, had them 
all drowned in a pail of water.” 

It might be thought that he had an excellent oppor- 
tunity here of avowing himself, but there was the risk that 
Mr. Blinkhorn would disbelieve him, and, with the boys, 
he felt that the truth would do anything but increase his 
popularity. But dissembling fails sometimes outside the 
copy-books, and Mr. Bultitude’s rather blundering attempt 
at it only landed him in worse difficulties. 

There was a yell of rage and disappointment from the 
defrauded ones, who had cherished a lingering hope that 
young Bultitude had those rabbits somewhere, but (like 
Mr. Barkis and his China lemon) found himself unable to 
part with them when the time came to fulfill his contract. 
And, as contempt is a frame of mind highly stimulating 
to one’s self-esteem, even those who had no personal inter- 
est in the matter joined in the execrations with hearty 
goodwill and sympathy. 

“ Why did you let him do it ? They were ours, not his. 
What right had your governor to go and drown our rabbits, 
eh ? ” they cried wrathfully. 

“ What right ? ” said Paul. “ Mustn’t a man do as he 
pleases in his own house, then ? I — he was not obliged to 
see the house overrun with vermin, I suppose ? ” 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


123 


But this only made them angrier, and they resented his 
defense with hoots, and groans, and hisses. 

Mr. Blinkhorn meanwhile was pondering the affair con- 
scientiously. At last he said, “ But you know the doctor 
would never allow animals to be kept in the school, if 
Bultitude had brought them. The whole thing js against 
the rules, and I shall not interfere.” 

“Ah, but,” said Chawner, “he promised them all to 
day-boarders. The doctor couldn’t object to that, could 
he, sir ? ” 

“ True,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, “ true. I was not aware 
of that. Well then, Bultitude, since you are prevented 
from performing what you promised to do, I’m sure you 
won’t object to do what is fair and right in the matter? ” 

“ I don’t think I quite follow you,” said Mr. Bultitude. 
But he dreaded what was coming next. 

“ It’s very simple. You have taken money from these 
boys, and if you can’t give them value for it, you ought to 
return all you took from them. I’m sure you see that 
yourself.” 

“ I don’t admit that I owe them anything,” said Paul ; 
“ and at all events it is highly inconvenient to pay them 
now.” 

“ If your own sense of honor isn’t enough,” said Mr. 
Blinkhorn, “ I must take the matter into my own hands. 
Let every boy who has any claim upon him tell me exactly 
what it is.” 

One boy after another brought forward his claim. One 
had entrusted Dick, it appeared, with a shilling, for which 
he was to receive a mouse with a “ plum saddle,” and two 
others had invested nine pence each in white mice. With 
Porter’s half-crown, the total came to precisely five shill- 
ings — all Paul had in the world, the one rope by which he 
could ever hope to haul himself up to his lost pinnacle ! 

Mr. Blinkhorn, naturally enough, saw no reason why the 
money, being clearly due, should not be paid at once. 

“ Give me any money you have about you, Bultitude,” 
he said, “ and I’ll satisfy your debts with it, as far as it 
goes.” 

Paul clasped his arm convulsively. “ No ! ” he cried 
hoarsely, “ not that ! Don’t make me do that ! I — I 


124 


VICE VERSA . 


can’t pay them — not now. They don’t understand. If 
they only give me time they shall have double their money 
back — wagon-loads of rabbits, the best rabbits money can 
buy — if they’ll wait. Tell them to wait ! My dear sir 
don’t see me wronged ! I won’t pay now ! ” 

“ They have waited long enough,” said Mr. Blinkhorn ; 
“ you must pay them.” 

“ I tell you I won’t ! ” cried Paul ; “ do you hear ? Not 
one sixpence. Oh, if you knew ! That infernal Guruda 
Stone ! What fools people are ! ” 

Then in his despair he did the most fatal thing possi- 
sible. He tried to save himself by flight, and with a vio- 
lent plunge broke through the circle and made for the 
road which led toward the station. 

Instantly the whole school, only too glad of the excite- 
ment, was at his heels. The unhappy old merchant ran 
as he not run for a quarter of a century, faster even than 
he had on his first experience of Boggs’s and Coker’s so- 
ciety on that memorable Monday night. But in spite of 
his efforts the chase was a short one. Chawner and Tip- 
ping very soon had him by the collar, and brought him 
back, struggling and kicking out viciously, to Mr. Blink- 
horn, whose good opinion he had now lost for ever. 

“ Please, sir,” said Chawner, “ I can feel something like 
a purse in his pocket. Shall I take it out, sir ? ” 

“ As he refuses to act with common honesty — yes,” said 
Mr. Blinkhorn. 

It was Dick’s purse, of course ; and, in spite of Paul’s 
frantic efforts to retain it, it was taken from him, its con- 
tents equitably divided among the claimants, and the 
purse itself returned to him — empty. 

“ Now, Bultitude,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, “ if you really 
wish to leave the field, you may. 

Mr. Bultitude lost what little temper he had yet to lose ; 
he flung the useless purse from him and broke away from 
them all in a condition little removed from insanity. 

Leave the field ! What a mockery the permission was 
now. How was he to get home, a distance of more than 
fifty miles, without a penny in his pockets ? Ten minutes 
before, and freedom was within his grasp, and now it 




UNBENDING THE BOW. 


125 


had eluded him and was as hopelessly out of reach as 
ever. 

No one pitied him ; no one understood the real extent 
of his loss. Mr. Blinkhorn and the few enthusiasts went 
back to their unobtrusive game, while the rest of the 
school discussed the affair in groups, the popular indigna- 
tion against young Bultitude’s hitherto unsuspected mean- 
ness growing more marked every instant. 

It might have even taken some decided and objectiona- 
ble form before long, but when it was at its height there 
was a sudden cry of alarm. “ Cave, you fellows, here’s 
Grim ! ” and indeed in the far distance the doctor’s portly 
and imposing figure could be seen just turning the corner 
into the field. 

Mr. Bultitude felt almost cheered. This coming to join 
his pupil’s sports showed a good heart ; the doctor would 
almost certainly be in a good humor, and he cheated him- 
self into believing that, at some interval in the game, he 
might perhaps find courage to draw near and seek to in- 
terest him in his incredible woes. 

It was quite extraordinary to see how the game, which 
had hitherto decidedly languished and hung fire, now 
quickened into briskness and became positively spirited. 
Every one developed a hearty interest in it, and it would 
almost seem as if the boys, with more delicacy than they 
are generally credited with, were unwilling to let their 
master guess how little his indulgence was really apprecia- 
ted. Even Mr. Tinkler, whose novel had kept him spell- 
bound on his rail all through the recent excitement, now 
slipped it hurriedly into his pocket and rushed energeti- 
cally into the fray, shouting encouragement rather indis- 
criminately to either side, till he had an opportunity of 
finding out privately to which leader he had been as- 
signed. 

Dr. Grimstone came down the field at a majestie slow 
trot, calling out to the players as he came on — “ Well 
done, Mutlow ! Finely played, sir ! Dribble it along 
now. Ah, you’re afraid of it ! Run into it, sir ; run into 
it ! No running with the ball now, Siggers ; play without 
those petty meannesses, or leave the game ! There, leave 
the ball to me, will you — leave it to me 1 ” 


26 


VICE VERSA. 


And, as the ball had rolled in his direction, he punted 
it up in an exceedingly dignified manner, the whole school 
keeping respectfully apart, until he had brought it to a rea- 
sonable distance from the goal, when he kicked it through 
with great solemnity, amid faint, and it is to be feared 
somewhat sycophantic, applause, and turned away with the 
air of a man surfeited of success. 

“ For which side did I win that ? ” he asked presently, 
whereupon Tipping explained that his side had been the 
favored one. “ Well then,” he said, “ you fellows must 
all back me up, or I shall not play for you any more ; ” 
and he kicked off the ball for die next game. 

It was noticeable that the party thus distinguished did 
not seem precisely overwhelmed with pleasure at the com- 
pliment, which, as they knew from experience, implied 
considerable exertion on their part, and even disgrace if 
they were unsuccessful. 

The other side, too, looked unhappy, feeling themselves 
in a position of extreme delicacy and embarrassment. 
For, if they played their best, they ran some risk of offend- 
ing the doctor, or, what was worse, drawing him over into 
their ranks ; while, if, on the other hand, they allowed 
themselves to be too easily worsted, they might be sus- 
pected of sulkiness and temper — offenses which he was 
very ready to discover and resent. 

Dr. Grimstone for his part enjoyed the exercise, and 
had no idea that he was not a thoroughly welcome and 
valued playmate. But though it was pleasant to outsiders 
to see a schoolmaster permitting himself to share in the 
recreation of his pupils, it must be owned that to the 
latter the advantages of the arrangement seemed some- 
thing more than dubious. 

Mr. Bultitude, being on the side adopted by the doctor, 
found too soon that he was expected to bestir himself. 
More than ever anxious now to conciliate, he did his very 
best to conquer his natural repugnance and appear more 
interested than alarmed as the ball came in his way ; but, 
although (to use a boating expression) he “ sugared ” with 
some adroitness, he was promptly found out, for his son 
had been a dashing and plucky player. 

It was bitter for him to run meekly about while scathing 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 127 

sarcasms and comments on his want of courage were 
being hurled at his head. It shattered the scanty rem- 
nants of his self-respect, but he dared not protest or say a 
single word to open the doctor’s eyes to the injustice he 
was doing him. 

He was unpleasantly reminded, too, of the disfavor he 
had acquired among his companions, by some one or other 
of them running up to him every moment when the doctor’s 
attention was called elsewhere, and startling his nerves by 
a sly jog or pinch, or an abusive ephithet hissed viciously 
into his ears — Chawner being especially industrious in 
this respect. 

And in this unsatisfactory way the afternoon dragged 
along until the dusk gathered and the lamps were lighted, 
and it became too dark to see goal-posts or ball. 

By the time play was stopped, and the school re-formed 
for the march home, Mr. Bultitude felt that he was glad 
even to get back to labor as a relief from such a form of 
enjoyment. It was perhaps the most miserable afternoon 
he had ever spent in his whole, easy-going life. In the 
course of it, he had passed from brighest hope to utter 
despair ; and now nothing remained to him but to convince 
the doctor, which he felt quite unequal to do, or to make 
his escape without money — which would inevitably end in 
a recapture. 

May no one who reads this ever be placed upon the 
horns of such a dilemma ! 


CHAPTER IX. 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 

Here are a few of the unpleasantest words 
That ever blotted paper. . . . 

A letter, 

And every word in it a gaping wound.” 

Merchant of Venice. 


If it were not that it was so absolutely essential to the 
interest of this story, I think I should almost prefer to 
draw a veil over the sufferings of Mr. Bultitude during 


VICE VERSA. 


12& 

the rest of that unhappy week at Crichton House ; but it 
would only be false delicacy to do so. 

Things went worse and worse with him. The real Dick 
in his most objectionable moods could never have con- 
trived to render himself one quarter so disliked and 
suspected as his substitute was by the whole school — 
master and boys. 

It was in a great measure his own fault ; for to an 
ordinary boy the life there would not have had any intol- 
erable hardships, if it held out no exceptional attractions. 
But he would not accommodate himself to circumstances, 
and try, during his enforced stay, to get as much instruc- 
tion and enjoyment as possible out of his new life. 

Perhaps, in his position, it would be too much to expect 
such a thing, and at all events, it never even occurred to 
him to attempt it. He consumed himself instead with 
inward raging and chaffing at his hard lot, and his utter 
powerlessness to break the spell which bound him. 

Sometimes, indeed, he would resolve to bear it no 
longer, and would start up impulsively to impart his mis- 
fortunes to some one in minor authority — not the doctor ; 
he had given that up in resigned despair long since. 
But, as surely as ever he found himself coming to the 
point, the words would stick fast in his throat, and he 
was only too thankful to get away, with his tale untold, on 
any frivolous pretext that first suggested itself. 

This, of course, brought him into suspicion, for such 
conduct had the appearance of a systematic course of 
practical joking, and even the most impartial teachers will 
sometimes form an unfavorable opinion of a particular 
boy on rather slender grounds, and then find fresh con- 
firmation of it in his most insignificant actions. 

As for the school generally, his scowls and his sullen- 
ness, his deficiency in the daring and impudence that had 
warmed their hearts toward Dick, and above all, his 
strange knack of getting them into trouble — for he seldom 
received what he considered an indignity without mak- 
ing a formal complaint — all this brought him as much 
hearty dislike and contempt as, perhaps, the most unsym- 
pathetic boy ever earned, since boarding-schools were first 
invented. 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


29 


The only boy who still seemed to retain a secret tender- 
ness for him as the Dick he had once looked up to and 
admired, was Jolland, who persisted in believing, and in 
stating his belief, that this apparent change of demeanor 
was a perverted kind of joke on Bultitude’s part, which he 
would condescend to explain some day when it had gone 
far enough, and he wearied and annoyed Paul beyond 
endurance by perpetually urging him to abandon his ill- 
judged experiment and discover the point of the jest. 

But for Jolland’s help, which he persevered in givingin 
spite of the opposition and unpopularity it brought upon 
himself, Mr. Bultitude would have found it impossible to 
make any pretense of performing the tasks required of 
him. 

He found himself expected, as a matter of course, to 
have a certain familiarity with Greek paradigms and 
German conversation scraps, propositions in Euclid and 
Latin gerunds, of all of which, having had a strict commercial 
education in his young days, he had not so much as heard 
before his metamorphosis. But by carefully copying 
Jolland’s exercises, and introducing enough mistakes of 
his own to supply the necessary local color, he was able 
to escape to a great degree the discovery of his blank 
ignorance on all these subjects — an ignorance which would 
certainly have been put down as mere idleness and 
obstinacy. 

But it will readily be believed that he lived in con- 
stant fear of such discovery, and, as it was, his de- 
pendence on a little scamp like his son’s friend was a sore 
humiliation to one who had naturally supposed hitherto 
that any knowledge he had not happened to acquire could 
only be meretricious and useless. 

He led a nightmare sort of existence for some days, 
until something happened which roused him from his state 
of passive misery into one more attempt at protest. 

It was Saturday morning, and he had come down to 
breakfast, after being knocked about as usual in the dor- 
mitory over night, with a dull wonder how long this horri- 
ble state of things could possibly be going to last, when 
he saw on his plate a letter with the Paddington post- 
0 


1 3 o 


VICE VERSA. 


mark, addressed in a familiar hand — his daughter Bar- 
bara’s. 

For an instant his hopes rose high. Surely the impostor 
had been found out at last, and the envelope would con- 
tain an urgent invitation to him to come back and resume 
his rights — an invitation which he might show to the doc- 
tor as his best apology. 

But when he looked at the address, which was “ Master 
Richard Bultitude,” he felt a misgiving. It was unlikely 
that Barbara would address him thus if she knew the 
truth ; he hesitated before tearing it open. 

Then he tried to persuade himself that of course she 
would have the sense to keep up appearances for his own 
sake on the outside of the letter, and he compelled him- 
self to open the envelope with fingers that trembled ner- 
vously. 

The very first sentences scattered his faint expectations 
to the winds. He read on with staring eyes, till the 
room seemed to rock with him like a packet-boat, and 
the sprawling school-girl handwriting, crossed and 
recrossed on the thin paper, changed to letters of scorch- 
ing flame. But perhaps it will be better to give the letter 
in full, so that the reader may judge for himself whether 
it was calculated or not to soothe and encourage the 
exiled one. 

Here it is : 

“ My dearest darling Dick : I hope you have not 
been expecting a letter from me before this, but I had 
such lots to tell you that I waited till I had time to tell it 
all at once. For I have such news for you ! You can’t 
think how pleased you will be when you hear it. Where 
shall I begin ? I hardly know, for it still seems so funny 
and strange — almost like a dream — only I hope we shall 
never wake up. 

“ I think I must tell you anyhow, just as it comes. 
Well, ever since you went away (how was it you never 
came up to say good-by to us in the drawing-room ? 
We couldn’t believe till we heard the door shut that you 
really had driven away without another word !) — Where 
am I? Oh, ever since you went away, dear.papahas been 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


131 

completely changed ; you would hardly believe it unless 
you saw him. He is quite jolly and boyish — only fancy ! 
and we are always telling him that he is the biggest baby 
of us all, but it only makes him laugh. Once, you know, 
he would have been awfully angry if we had even hinted 
at it. 

“ Do you know, I really think that the real reason he 
was so cross and sharp with us that last week was because 
you were going away ; for, now the wrench of parting is 
over, he is quite light-hearted again. You know how he 
always hates showing his feelings. 

“ He is so altered now, you can’t think. He has ac- 
tually only once been up to the city since you left, and 
then he came home at four o’clock, and he seems to quite 
like to have us all about him. Generally he stays at 
home all the morning, and plays at soldiers with baby in 
the dining-room. You would laugh to see him loading the 
cannons with real powder and shot, and he didn’t care a 
bit when some of it made holes in the sideboard and 
smashed the looking-glass. 

“ We had such fun the other afternoon ; we played at 
brigands — papa and all of us. Papa had the upper con- 
servatory for a robber-cave ; and stood there keeping 
guard with your pop-gun ; and he wouldn’t let the servants 
go by without a kiss, unless they showed a written pass 
from us ! Miss McFadden called in the middle of it, but 
she said she wouldn’t come in, as papa seemed to be en- 
joying himself so. Boaler has given warning, but we can’t 
think why. We have been out nearly every evening — 
once to Hengler’s and. once to the Christy Minstrels, and 
last night to the pantomime, where papa was so pleased 
with the clown that he sent around afterward and asked 
him to dine here on Sunday, when Sir Benjamin and Lady 
Bangle and Alderman Fishwick are coming. Won’t it be 
jolly to see a clown close to ? Should you think he’d 
come in his evening-dress ? Miss Mangnall has been 
given a month’s holiday, because papa didn’t like to see us 
"always at lessons. Think of that ! 

“ We are going to have the whole house done up and 
refurnished at "last. Papa chose the furniture for the 
drawing-room yesterday. It is all in yellow satin, which is 


i3 2 


VICE VERSA. 


rather bright. I think. I haven’t seen the carpet yet, but 
it is to match the furniture ; and there is a lovely hearth- 
rug, with a lion-hunt worked on it. 

“ But that isn’t the best of it ; we are going to have the 
big children’s party after all ! No one but children in- 
vited, and every one to do exactly what they like. I 
wanted so much to have you home for it, but papa says 
it would only unsettle you and take you away from your 
work. 

“ Had Dulcie forgotten you ? I should like to see her 
so much. Now I really must leave off, as I am going to 
the Aquarium with papa. Mind you write me as good a 
letter as this is, if that old doctor lets you. Minnie and 
Roly send love and kisses, and papa sends his kind 
regards, and I am to say he hopes you are settling down 
steadily to work. 

“ With best love, your affectionate sister, 

“ Barbara Bultitude. 

“ P. S. — I nearly forgot to say that Uncle Duke came 
the other day, and has stayed here ever since. He 
is going to make papa’s fortune ! I believe by a gold 
mine he knows about somewhere, and a steam tramway 
in Lapland. But I don’t like him very much — he is so 
polite.” 

It would be nothing short of an insult to the reader’s 
comprehension if I were to enter into an elaborate ex- 
planation of the effect this letter had upon Mr. Bulti- 
tude. He took it in by degrees, trying to steady his 
nerves at each additional item of poor Barbara’s well- 
meant intelligence by a sip at his tin-flavored coffee. 
But when he came to the postscript, in spite of its pur- 
port being mercifully broken to him gradually by the- 
extreme difficulty of making it out from two undercur- 
rents of manuscript, he choked convulsively and spilt his 
coffee. 

Dr. Grimstone visited this breach of etiquette with stern 
promptness. “ This conduct at table is disgraceful, sir — 
perfectly disgraceful — unworthy of a civilized being. I 
have been a teacher of youth for many years, and never 
till now did I have the pain of seeing a pupil of mine 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


*33 


choke in his breakfast-cup with such deplorable ill-breed- 
ing. It’s pure greediness, sir, and you will have the good- 
ness to curb your indecent haste in consuming your food 
for the future. Your excellent father has frequently 
complained to me, with tears in his eyes, of the impossi- 
bility of teaching you to behave at meals with common 
propriety ! ” 

There was a faint chuckle along the tables, and several 
drank coffee with a studied elegance and self-repression, 
either as a valuable example to Dick, or as a personal ad- 
vertisement. But Paul was in no mood for reproof and 
instruction. He stood up in his excitement, flourishing 
his letter wildly. 

“ Dr. Grimstone ! ” he said ; “ never mind my behavior 
now. I’ve something to tell you. I can’t bear it any 
longer. I must go home at once — at once, sir ! ” 

There was a general sensation at this, for his manner 
was peremptory and almost dictatorial. Some thought he 
would get a licking on the strength of it, and most hoped 
so. But the doctor dismissed them to the play-ground, 
keeping Paul back to be dealt with in privacy. 

Mrs. Grimstone played nervously with her dry toast at 
the end of the table, for she could not endure to see the 
boys in trouble, and dreaded a scene, while Dulcie looked 
on with wide, bright eyes. 

“ Now, sir,” said the doctor, looking up from his mar- 
malade, “ why must you go home at once ? ” 

“ I’ve just had a letter,” stammered Paul 

“No one ill at home, I hope ? ” 

“ No, no,” said Paul. “ It’s not that ; it’s worse ! 
She doesn’t know what horrible things she tells me ! ” 

“ Who is 4 she ’ ? ” said the doctor — and Dulcie’s eyes 
were larger still and her face paled. 

“ I decline to say,” said Mr. Bultitude. It would have 
been absurd to say “ my daughter,” and he had not pres- 
ence of mind just then to transpose the relationships with 
neatness and success. “ But indeed I am wanted most 
badly ! ” 

“ What are you wanted for, pray ? ” 

“ Everything ! ” declared Paul ; it’s all going to rack 
and ruin without me ! ” 


VICE VERSA. 


*34 

“ That’s absurd,” said the doctor ; “ you’re not such an 
important individual as all that, Master Bultitude. But 
let me see the letter.” 

Show him the letter — lay bare all those follies of Dick’s, 
the burden of which he might have to bear himself very 
shortly — never ! Besides, what would be the use of it ? 
It would be no argument in favor of sending him home — 
rather the reverse — so Paul was obliged to say, “ Excuse 
me, Dr. Grimstone, it is — ah — of a private nature. I 
don’t feel at liberty to show it to any one.” 

“ Then, sir,” said the doctor, with some reason, “ If you 
can’t tell me who or what it is that requires your presence 
at home, and decline to show me the letter which would 
presumably give me some idea on the subject, how do you 
expect that I am to listen to such a preposterous demand 
— eh ? Just tell me that ! ” 

Once more would Paul have given worlds for the firm- 
ness and presence of mind to state his case clearly and ef- 
fectively ; and he could hardly have had a better opportunity, 
for schoolmasters can not always be playing the tyrant, 
and the doctor was, in spite of his attempts to be stern, 
secretly more amused than angry at what seemed a pecul- 
iarly precocious piece of effrontery. 

But Paul felt the dismal absurdity of his position. 
Nothing he said, nothing he could say, short of the truth, 
would avail him, and the truth was precisely what he felt 
most unable to tell. He hung his head resignedly, and 
held his tongue in confusion. 

“ Pooh ! ” said the doctor at last ; “ let me have no 
more of this tomfoolery, Bultitude. It’s getting to be a 
positive nuisance. Don’t come to me with any more of 
these ridiculous stories, or some day I shall be annoyed. 
There, go away, and be contented where you are, and try 
to behave like other people.” 

“ Contented ! ” muttered Paul, when out of hearing, as 
he went upstairs and through the empty schoolroom into 
the glayground. “ ‘ Behave like other people ! ’ Ah, yes, 
I suppose I shall have to come to that in time. But that 
letter — Everything upside down — Bangle asked to 
meet a common clown ! That fellow Duke letting me in 
for gold-mines and tramways ! It’s all worse than I ever 


A TETTER FROM HOME. 


135 


dreamed of ; and I must stay here and be ‘ contented !’ 
It’s — it’s perfectly damnable ! ” 

All through that morning his thoughts ran in the same 
doleful groove, until the time for work came to an end, 
and he found himself in the playground, and free to in- 
dulge his melancholy for a few minutes in solitude ; for 
the others were still loitering about in the schoolroom, and 
a glass outhouse originally intended for a conservatory, 
but now devoted to boots and slates, and the books liber- 
ally besmeared with gilt, and telling of the exploits of boy- 
heroes so beloved of boys. 

Mr. Bultitude, only too delighted to get away from them 
for a little while, was leaning against the parallel bars in 
dull despondency, when he heard a rustling in the laurel 
hedge which cut off the house garden from the graveled 
playground, and looking up, saw Dulcie slip through the 
shrubs and come toward him with an air of determination 
in her proud little face. 

She looked prettier and daintier than ever in her gray 
plush hat and warm fur tippet ; but, of course, Paul was 
not of the age or in the mood to be much affected by such 
things — he turned his head pettishly away. 

“ It’s no use doing that, Dick,” she said ; I’m tired of 
sulking. I shan’t sulk any more till I have an expla- 
nation.” 

Paul made the sound generally written “ Pshaw ! ” 

“ You ought to tell me everything. I will know it. 
Oh, Dick, you might tell me ! I always told you anything 
you wanted to know; and I let mamma think it was I 
broke the clock-shade last term, and you know you did it. 
And I want to know something so very badly ! ” 

“ It’s no use coming to me, you know,” said Paul. “ I 
can’t do anything’ for you.” 

“ Yes, you can ; you know you can ! ” said Dulcie, im- 
pulsively. “ You can tell me what was in that letter you 
had at breakfast — and you shall too ! ” 

“ What an inquisitive little girl you are,” said Paul, sen- 
tentiously. “ It’s not nice for little girls to be so inquisi- 
tive — it doesn’t look well.” 

“ I knew it ! ” cried Dulcie ; “ you don’t want to tell me 
— because — because it’s from that other horrid girl you 


VICE VERSA. 


136 

like better than me. And you promised to belong to me 
for ever and ever, and now it’s all over ! Say it isn’t ! 
Oh, Dick, promise to give the other girl up. I’m sure 
she’s not a nice girl. She’s written you an unkind letter ; 
now hasn’t she ? ” 

“ Upon my word,” said Paul, “ this is very forward ; at 
your age too. Why, my Barbara — ” 

“ Your Barbara ! you dare to call her that ? Oh, I knew 
I was right ; I will see that letter now. Give it me this 
instant ! ” said Dulcie, imperiously ; and Paul really felt 
almost afraid of her. 

“ No, no,” he said, retreating a step or two, “ it’s all a 
mistake ; there’s nothing to get into such a passion about 
— there isn’t indeed ! And — don’t cry — you’re really a 
pretty little girl. I only wish I could tell you everything ; 
but you’d never believe me ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, I would, Dick ! ” protested Dulcie, only too 
willing to be convinced of her boy-lover’s constancy ; “I’ll 
believe anything, if you’ll only tell me. And I’m sorry 
I was so angry.' Sit down by me and tell me from the 
very beginning. I promise not to interrupt.” 

Paul thought for a moment. After all, why shouldn’t 
he ? It was much pleasanter to tell his sorrows to her 
pretty little ear and hear her childish wonder and pity 
than face her terrible father — he had tried that. And 
then she might tell her mother ; and so his story might 
reach the doctor’s ears after all, without further effort on 
his part. 

“ Well,” he said at last, “ I think )rou’re a good- 
natured little girl ; you won’t laugh. Perhaps I will tell 
you ! ” 

So he sat down on the bench by the wall, and Dulcie, 
quite happy again now at this proof of good faith, nestled 
up against him confidingly, waiting for his first words with 
parted lips and eager, sparkling eyes. 

“ Not many days ago,” began Paul, “ I was somebody 
very different from — ” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said a jarring, sneering voice close by ; 
“ was you ? ” And he looked up and saw Tipping stands 
ing over him with a plainly hostile intent. 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


137 


“ Go away, Tipping,” said Dulcie ; “ we don’t want you. 
Dick is telling me a secret.” 

“ He’s very fond of telling, I know,” retorted Tipping. 
“ If you knew what a sneak he was you’d have nothing to 
do with him, Dulcie. I could tell you things about him 
that — ” 

“ He’s not a sneak,” said Dulcie. “ Are you, Dick ? 
Why don’t you go, Tipping? Never mind what he says, 
Dick ; go on as if he wasn’t there. I don’t care what he 
says ! ” 

It was a most unpleasant situation for Mr. Bultitude, 
but he did not like to offend Tipping. “ I — I think- — 
some other time, perhaps,” he said nervously. “ Not 
now.” 

“ Ah, you’re afraid to say what you were going to say 
now I’m here,” said the amiable Tipping, nettled by Dul- 
cie’s little air of haughty disdain. “ You’re a coward ; you 
know you are. You pretend to think such a lot of Dulcie 
here, but you daren’t fight ! ” 

“ Fight ! ” said Mr. Bultitude. “ Eh, what for ? ” 

“ Why, for her, of course. You can’t care much about 
her if you daren’t fight for her. I wan’t to show her who’s 
the best man of the two ! ” 

“ I don’t wan’t to be shown,” wailed poor Dulcie pite- 
ously, clinging to the reluctant Paul ; “ I know. Don’t 
fight with him, Dick. I say you’re not to.” 

“ Certainly not ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, with great de- 
cision. “ I shouldn’t think of such a thing ! ” and he 
rose from the bench and was about to walk away, when 
Tipping suddenly pulled off his coat and began to make 
sundry demonstrations of a martial nature, such as 
dancing aggressively toward his rival and clinching his 
fists. 

By this time most of the other boys had come down 
into the playground, and were looking on with great inter- 
est. There was an element of romance in this promised 
combat which gave it additional attractions. It was like 
one of the struggles between knightly champions in the 
Waverly novels. Several of them would have fought till 
they couldn’t see out of their eyes if it would have given 
them the least chance of obtaining favor in Dulcie’s 


VICE VERSA. 


I3 8 

sight, and they all envied Dick, who was the only boy that 
was not* unmercifully snubbed by their capricious little 
princess. 

Paul alone was blind to the splendor of his privileges. 
He examined Tipping carefully, as the latter was still as- 
suming a hostile attitude and chanting a sort of war cry 
supposed to be an infallible incentive to strife. “Yah, 
you’re afraid ! ” he sang very offensively. “ I wouldn’t be 
afraid ! Cowardy, cowardy, custard ! ” 

“ Pooh ! ” said Paul at last ; “ go away, sir, go away ! ” 

“ Go away, eh ? ” jeered Tipping. “ Who are you to fell 
me to go away ? Go away yourself ! ” 

“ Certainly,” said Paul, only too happy to oblige. But 
he found himself prevented by a ring of excited backers. 

“ Don’t funk it, Dick ! ” cried some, forgetting recent 
ill-feeling in the necessity for partisanship. “ Go in and 
settle him as you did that last time. I’ll second you. You 
can do it ! ” 

“ Don’t hit each other in the face,” pleaded Dulcie, 
who had got upon a bench and was looking down into the 
ring — not, if the truth must be told, without a certain 
pleasurable excitement in the feeling that it was all about 
her. 

And now Mr. Bultitude discovered that he was seri- 
ously expected to fight this great hulking boy, and that 
the sole reason for any disagreement was an utterly un- 
founded jealousy respecting this little girl Dulcie. He 
had not a grain of chivalry in his disposition — chivalry 
being an eminently unpractical virtue — and naturally he 
saw no advantage in letting himself be mauled for the 
sake of a child younger than his own daughter. 

Dulcie’s appeal enraged Tipping, who took it as ad- 
dressed solely to himself. “ You ought to be glad to stick 
up for her,” he said between his teeth. “ I’ll mash you 
for this — see if I don’t ! ” 

Paul thought he saw his way clear to disabuse Tipping 
of his mistaken idea. “ Are you proposing,” he asked 
politely, “ to — to ‘ mash ’ me on account of that little girl 
there on the seat ? ” 

“ You’ll soon see,” growled Tipping. “ Shut your head 
and come on ! ” 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 139 

“No, but ’ I want .to know,” persisted Mr. Bultitude. 
“ Because,” he said, with a sickly attempt at jocularity 
which delighted none, “you see I don’t wan’t to be 
mashed. I’m not a potato. If I understand you aright, 
you want to fight me because you think me likely to in- 
terfere with your claim to that little girl’s — ah — affec- 
tions ? ” 

“ That’s it,” said Tipping gruffly ; “ so you’d better 
waste no more words about it, and come on.” 

“ But I don’t care about coming on,” protested Paul 
earnestly. “ It’s all a mistake. I’ve no doubt she’s a 
very nice little girl, but I assure you, my good boy, I’ve 
no desire to stand in your way for one instant. She’s 
nothing to me — nothing at all ! I give her up to you. 
Take her, young fellow, with my blessing ! There, now, 
that’s all settled comfortably — eh ? ” 

He was just looking around with a self-satisfied and re- 
lieved air, when he began to be aware that his act of frank 
unselfishness was not as much appreciated as it deserved. 
Tipping, indeed, looked baffled and irresolute for one 
moment, but a low murmur of disgust arose from the by- 
standers, and even Jolland declared that it was “ too 
beastly mean.” 

As for Dulcie, she had been looking on incredulously at 
her champion’s unaccountable tardiness in coming to the 
point. But this public repudiation was too much for her. 
She gave a little low cry as she heard the shameless words 
of recantation, and then, without a word, jumped lightly 
dovtfn from her bench and ran away to hide herself some- 
where and cry. 

Even Paul, though he knew that he had done nothing 
but what was strictly right, and had acted purely in 
self-protection, felt unaccountably ashamed of himself 
as he saw this effect of his speech. But it was too late 
now. 


140 


VICE VERSA. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER. 

“ Accelerated by ignominious shovings — nay, as it is written, by smitings, twitch- 
ings, spurnings, a posteriori, not to be named .” — French Revolution. 

“ This letter being so excellently ignorant will breed no terror in the youth.” 
— Twelfth Night. 

Mr. Bultitude had meant to achieve a double stroke 
of diplomacy — to undeceive Dulcie and conciliate the 
love-sick Tipping. But, whatever his success may have 
been in the former respect, the latter object failed con- 
spicuously. 

“ You shan’t get off by a shabby trick like that,” said 
Tipping, exasperated by the sight of Dulcie’s emotion ; 
“ you’ve made her cry now, and you shall smart for it. So, 
now, are you going to stand up to me like a man, or will 
you take a kicking ? ” 

“ I’m not going to help you to commit a breach of the 
peace,” said Paul, with great dignity. “Go away, you 
quarrelsome young ruffian ! Get one of your school-fel- 
lows to fight you, if you must fight. I don’t want to be 
mixed up with you in any way.” 

But at this Tipping, whose blood was evidently at boil- 
ing point, came prancing down on him in a Zulu-like fash- 
ion, swinging his long arms like a windmill, and, finding 
that his enemy made no attempt at receiving him, but 
only moved away apprehensively, he seized him by the 
collar as a prelude to dealing him a series of kicks 
behind. 

Although Mr. Bultitude, as we have seen, was opposed 
to fighting as a system, he could not submit to this sort of 
thing without at least some attempt to defend himself, 
and, judging it of the highest importance to disable his 
adversary in the most effectual manner before the latter 
had time to carry out his offensive designs, he turned 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER. 


141 


sharply round and hit him a very severe blow in the lower 
part of his waistcoat. 

The result fulfilled his highest expectations. Tipping 
collapsed like a pocket-rule, and staggered away speech- 
less and purple with pain, while Paul stood calm and tri- 
umphant. He had shown these fellows that he wasn’t 
going to stand any nonsense. They would leave him 
alone after this, perhaps. 

But once more there were cries and murmurs of 
“ Shame ! ” “ No hitting below the belt ! ” “ Cad — cow- 

ard ! ” 

It appeared that, somehow, he had managed to offend 
their prejudices even in this. “ It’s very odd,” he thought; 
“ when I didn’t fight they called me coward, and now, 
when I do, I don’t seem to have pleased them much. I 
don’t care, though. I’ve settled him.” 

But, after a season of protracted writhing by the paral- 
lel bars, Tipping came out, still gasping and deadly pale, 
leaning on Biddlecomb’s shoulder, and was met with uni- 
versal sympathy and condolence. 

“ Thanks ! >J he said, with considerable effort. “ Of 
course — I’m not going — to fight him after a low kick like 
that ; but perhaps you fellows will see that he doesn’t 
escape quite as easily as he fancies ? ” 

There was a general shout. “ No, he shall pay for it! 
We’ll teach him ta fight fair ! We’ll see if he tries that on 
again ! ” 

Paul heard it with much uneasiness. What new devil- 
ry were they about to practice on him ? He was not left 
long in doubt. 

“ I vote,” suggested Biddlecomb, as if he were propos- 
ing a testimonial, “ we make him run the gauntlet. Grim 
won’t come out and catch us. I saw him go out for a drive 
an hour ago.” And the idea was very favorably enter- 
tained. 

Paul had heard of “running the gauntlet,” and dimly 
suspected that it was not an experience he was likely to 
enjoy, particularly when he saw everyone busying himself 
with tying the end of his pocket-handkerchief into a hard 
knot. He tried in vain to excuse himself, declaring again 
and again that he had never meant to injure the boy. He 


142 


VICE VERSA. 


had only defended himself, and was under the impression 
that he was at perfect liberty to hit him wherever he 
could, and so on. But they were in no mood for excuses. 

With a stern magisterial formality worthy of a Vehm- 
Gericht, they formed in two. long lines down the center of 
the playground ; and, while Paul was still staring in won- 
der at what this strange manoeuvre might mean, somebody 
pounced upon him and carried him up to one end of the 
ranks, where Tipping had, by this time, sufficiently recov- 
ered to be able to “ set him going,” as he chose to call it, 
with a fairly effective kick. 

After that he had a confused sense of flying madly 
along the double line of avengers under a hail of blows 
which caught him on every part of his head, shoulders 
and back, till he reached the end, where he was dexter^ 
ously turned and sent spinning up to Tipping again, who, 
in his turn, headed him back on his arrival, and forced 
him to brave the terrible lane once more. 

Never before had Mr. Bultitude felt so sore and in- 
sulted. But they kept it up long after the thing had lost 
its first freshness — until at last exhaustion made them 
lean to mercy, and they cuffed him ignominiously into 
a corner, and left him to lament his ill-treatment there 
till the bell rang for dinner, for which, contrary to pre- 
cedent, his recent violent exercise had excited little appe- 
tite. 

“ I shall be killed soon if I stay here,” he moaned ; 
“ I know I shall. These young brigands would murder 
me cheerfully, if they were not afraid of being caned 
for it. I’m a miserable old man and I wish I was 
dead!” 

Although that afternoon, being Saturday, was a half- 
holiday, Mr. Bultitude was spared the ordeal of another 
game at football ; for a smart storm of rain and sleet, 
coming on about three o’clock, kept the school — not 
altogether unwilling prisoners — within doors for the 
day. 

The boys sat in their places in their schoolroom, 
amusing themselves after their several fashions — some 
reading, some making libelous copies of drawings that 
took their fancy in the illustrated papers, some playing 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER. 


M3 


games ; others, too listless to play and too dull to find 
pleasure in the simplest books, filled up the time as well 
as they could by quarreling and getting into various depths 
of hot water. Paul sat in a corner pretending to read a 
story relating to the experiences of certain infants of phe- 
nominal courage and coolness in the Arctic regions. 
They killed bears and tamed walruses all through the 
book ; but for the first time, perhaps, since their appear- 
ance in print, their exploits fell flat. Not, however, that 
this reflected any discredit upon the author’s powers, 
which are justly admired by all healthy-minded boys ; but 
it was beyond the power of literature just then to charm 
Mr. Bultitude’s thoughts from the recollection of his mis- 
fortunes. 

As he took in all the details of his surroundings — the 
warm, close room ; the raw-toned desks and tables at 
which a rabble of unsympathetic boys were noisily 
whispering and chattering, with occasional glances in his 
direction, from which, taught by experience, he augured 
no good ; the high, uncurtained windows, blurred with 
little stars of half-frozen rain, and the bare, bleak branches 
of the trees outside tossing drearily against a low, leaden 
sky — he tried in vain to cheat himself into a dreamy per- 
suasion that all this misery could not be real, but would 
fade away as suddenly and mysteriously as it had stolen 
upon him. 

Toward the close of the afternoon the doctor came 
in and took his place at the writing-table, where he was 
apparently very busy with the composition of some sort 
of document, which he finished at last with evident sat- 
isfaction at the result of his labor. Then he observed 
that, according to their custom of a Saturday afternoon, 
the hour before tea-time should be devoted to “ writing 
home.” 

So the books, chess-boards, and dominoes were all put 
away, and a new steel pen and a sheet of note-paper, 
neatly embossed with the heading of “ Crichton House 
School ” in old English letters, having been served out to 
every one, each boy prepared himself to write down such 
things as filial affection, strict truthfulness, and the 


144 


VICE VERSA. 


desire of imparting information might inspire between 
them, 

Paul felt, as he clutched his writing materials, much as a 
shipwrecked mariner might be expected to do at finding 
on his desolate island a good-sized flag and a case of 
rockets. His hopes revived once more ; he forgot the 
smarts left by the knots in the handkerchiefs ; he had a 
whole hour before him — it was possible to set several wires 
in motion for his release in an hour. 

Yes, he must write several letters. First, one to his 
solicitor, detailing, as calmly and concisely as his feelings 
would allow, the shameful way in which he had been 
treated, and imploring him to take measures of some sort 
for getting him out of his false and awkward position ; 
one to his head clerk, to press upon him the necessity of 
prudence and caution in dealing with the impostor ; notes 
to Bangle and Fishwick putting them off — they should 
not be outraged by an introduction to a vulgar pantomime 
clown under his roof ; and, lastly (this was an outburst he 
could not deny himself), a solemn, impressive appeal to 
the common humanity, if not to the ordinary filial instincts, 
of his dutiful son. 

His fingers tingled to begin. Sentences of burning, 
indignant eloquence crowded confusedly into his head — 
he would write such letters as would carry instant convic- 
tion to the most practical and matter-of-fact minds. The 
pathos and dignity of his remonstrances should melt even 
Dick’s selfish, callous heart. 

Perhaps he overrated the power of his pen — perhaps 
it would have required more than mere ink to persuade 
his friends to disbelieve their own senses, and see a 
portly citizen of nearly sixty packed into the frame of a 
chubby urchin of fourteen. But, at all events, no one’s 
faith was put to so hard a test — those letters were never 
written. 

“ Don’t begin to write yet, any of you,” said the doctor ; 
“ I have a few words to say to you first. In most cases, 
and as a general rule, I think it wisest to let every boy 
commit to paper whatever his feelings may dictate to him. 
I wish to claim no censorship over the style and diction 
of your letters. But there have been so many complaints 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER. 


*45 

lately from the parents of some of the less advanced of 
you, that I find myself obliged to make a change. Your 
father particularly, Richard Bultitude,” he added, turning 
suddenly upon the unlucky Paul, “ has complained bitterly 
of the slovenly tone and phrasing of your correspondence ; 
he said, very justly, that they would disgrace a stable-boy, 
and, unless I could induce you to improve them, lie 
begged he might not be annoyed by them in future.” 

It was by no means the least galling part of Mr. Bulti- 
tude’s trials, that former forgotten words and deeds of his 
in his original condition were constantly turning up at 
critical seasons, and plunging him deeper into the morass 
just when he saw some prospect of gaining firm ground. 

So now, he did remember that, being in a more than 
usually bad temper one day last ) r ear, he had, on receiving 
a sprawling, ill-spelt application from Dick for more 
pocket money, to buy fire-works for the 5th of November, 
written to make some such complaint to the schoolmaster. 
He waited anxiously for the doctor’s next words ; he might 
want to read the letters before they were sent off, in which 
case Paul would not be displeased, for it would be an 
easier and less dangerous way of putting the doctor in 
possession of the facts. 

But his complaints were to be honored by a much more 
effectual remedy, for it naturally piqued the doctor to be 
told that boys instructed under his auspices wrote like sta- 
ble-boys. “ However,” he went on, “ I wish your people 
at home to be assured from time to time of your welfare, 
and, to prevent them from being shocked and distressed 
in future by the crudity of your communications, I have 
drawn up a short form of letter for the use of the lower 
boys in the second form — which I shall now proceed to 
dictate. Of course, all boys in the first form, and all in 
the second above Bultitude and Jolland, will write as they 
please, as usual. Richard, I expect you to take particu- 
lar pains to write this out neatly. Are you all ready ? 
Very well then, . . . now ; ” and he read out the follow- 
ing letter, slowly : 

“ My dear Parents (or parent, according to circumstan- 
ces) comma ” (all of which several took down most indus- 
triously) — You will be rejoiced to hear that, having ar- 
ia 


146 


VICE VERSA. 


rived with safety at our destination, we have by this time 
fully resumed our customary regular round of earnest 
work, relieved and sweetened by hearty play. (Have you 
all got ‘ hearty play ' down ? ” inquired the doctor, rather 
suspiciously, while Jolland observed in an undertone that 
it would take some time to get that down.) “ I hope, I 
trust that I may say without undue conceit, to have made 
considerable progress in my schooltasks before I rejoin 
the family circle for the Easter vacation, as I think you 
will admit when I inform you of the programme we in- 
tend ” (“ D. V. in brackets and capital letters ” — as 
before, this was taken down verbatim by Jolland, who 
probably knew very much better), “ intend to work out 
during the term. 

“ In Latin, the class of which I am a member propose 
to thoroughly master the first book of Virgil’s magnificent 
Epic ; need I say I refer to the soul-moving story of the 
Pious JEneas ?” (Jolland was understood by his near 
neighbor to remark that he thought the explanation dis- 
tinctly advisable), “ while in Greek we have already com- 
menced the thrilling account of the ‘ Anabasis ’ of Xeno- 
phon, that master of strategy! nor shall we, ef course, 
neglect in either branch of study the syntax and construc- 
tion of those two noble languages ” — (“ noble languages ” 
echoed the writers mechanically, contriving ta insinuate a 
touch of irony into the words). 

“ In German, under the able tutelage of Herr Stoh- 
wasser, who, as I may possibly have mentioned to you in 
casual conversation, is a graduate of the University of 
Heidelberg” (“ and a silly old hass,” added Jolland/par- 
enthetically), “ we have resigned ourselves to the spell of 
the Teutonian Shakespeare ” (there was much difference 
of opinion as to the manner of spelling the “ Teutonian 
Shakespeare ”), “ as, in my opinion, Schiller may be not 
unaptly termed ; and our French studies comprise such 
exercises, and short poems and tales, as are best calcu- 
lated to afford an insight into the intricacies of the Gallic 
tongue. 

“ But I would not have you imagine, my dear parents 
(or parent, as before), that, because the claims of the in- 


THE COMPLETE LETTER- WRITER . 


147 


tellect have been thus amply provided for, the require- 
ments of the body are necessarily over-looked ! 

^ “I have no intention of becoming a mere bookworm, 
and, on the contrary, we have had one excessively brisk 
and pleasant game at football already this season, and 
should, but for the unfortunate inclemency of the weather 
have engaged again this afternoon in the mimic warfare. 

“ In the playground our favorite- diversion is the game 
of * chevy,’ so called from that engagement famed in 
ballad and history (I allude to the battle of Chevy Chase), 
. and, indeed, my dear parents, in the rapid alternations of 
its fortunes and the diversity of its incident, the game (to 
my mind) bears a striking resemblance to the accounts of 
that ever-memorable contest. 

“ I fear I must now relinquish my pen, as the time al- 
lotted for correspondence is fast waning to its close, and 
* tea-time is approaching. Pray give my kindest remem- 
brances to all my numerous friends and relatives, and ac- 
cept my fondest love and affection for yourselves, and the 
various other members of the family circle. 

“ I am, I am rejoiced to say, in the enjoyment of excel- 
lent health, and, surrounded as I am by congenial com- 
panions, and employed in interesting and agreeable pur- 
suits, it is superfluous to add that I am happy. 

“ And now, my dear parents, believe me, your dutiful 
and affectionate son, so and so.” 

The doctor finished his dictation with a roll in his voice, 
as much as to say, “ I think that will strike your respect- 
ive parents as a chaste and classical composition ; I 
think sod ” 

But, unexceptionably as its tone and sentiments un- 
doubtedly were, it was far from expressing the feelings of 
Mr. Bultitude. The rest accepted it not unwillingly as an 
escape from the fatigue of original composition, but to 
him the neat, well-balanced sentences seemed a hollow 
mockery. As he wrote down each successive phrase, he 
wondered what Dick would think of it, and, when at last 
it was finished, the precious hour had gone for another 
week ! 

In speechless disgust, but without protest, for his spirit 
was too broken by this last cruel disappointment, he had 


148 


VICE VERSA. 


to fold, put into an envelope, and direct this most mis- 
leading letter under the doctor’s superintending eye, 
which, of course, allowed him no chance of introducing a 
line or even a word to counteract the tone of self-satisfac- 
tion and contentment which breathed in every sentence of 
it. 

He saw it stamped, and put into the postbag, and then 
his last gleam of hope flickered out ; he must give up 
struggling against the Inevitable ; he must resign himself 
to be educated, and perhaps flogged here, while Dick was 
filling his house with clowns and pantaloons, destroying 
his reputation and damaging his credit at home. Perhaps, 
in course of time, he would grow accustomed to it, and, 
meanwhile, he would be as careful as possible to do and 
say nothing to make himself remarkable in any way, by 
which means he trusted, at least, to avoid any fresh ca- 
lamity. 

And with this resolution he went to bed on a Saturday 
night, feeling that this was a dreary finish to a most un- 
pleasant week. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A DAY OF REST. 

“ There was a letter indeed to be intercepted by a man’s father to do him 
good with him .” — Every Man in his Hzimor. 

u I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter, 

Sent to my son ; nor leave t’ admire the change 
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth 
Within the kingdom, since myself was one. — Ibid.” 

Sunday came — a day which was to begin a new week 
for Mr. Bultitude, and, of course, for the rest of the 
Christian world as well. Whether that week would be 
better or worse than the one which had just passed away 
he naturally could not tell ; it could hardly be much 
worse. 

But the Sunday itself, he anticipated — without, however, 
any very firm grounds for such an assumption — would be 
a day of brief but grateful respite ; a day on which he 


A DAY OF REST. 


149 


might venture to claim much the same immunity as was 
enjoyed in the old days by the insolvent ; a day, in short, 
which would glide slowly by with the rather drowsy 
solemnity peculiar to the British Sabbath as observed by 
all truly respectable persons. 

And yet that very Sunday, could he have foreseen it, 
was destined to be the most eventful day he had yet 
spent at Crichton House, where none had proved wanting 
in incident. During the next twelve hours he was to pass 
through every variety of unpleasant sensation. Embar- 
rassment, suspense, fear, anxiety, dismay, and terror were 
to follow each other in rapid succession, and to wind up, 
strangely enough, with a delicious ecstacy of pure relief 
and happiness — a fatiguing programme for any middle- 
aged gentleman who had never cultivated his emotional 
faculties. 

Let me try and tell you how this came about. The 
getting-up bell rang an hour later than on week days, but 
the boys were expected to prepare certain tasks suitable 
for the day before they rose. Mr. Bultitude found that he 
was required to learn by heart a hymn, a hymn in which 
the rhymes “ join ” and “ divine,” “ throne ” and “ crown,” 
were so happily wedded that either might conform to the 
other — a graceful concession to individual taste which is 
not infrequent in this class of poetry. Trivial as such a 
task may seem in these days of school boards, it gave him 
infinite trouble and mental exertion, for he had not been 
called upon to commit anything of the kind to memory 
for many years, and, after mastering that, there still 
remained a long chronological list (the dates approximately 
computed) of the leading events before and immediately 
after the Deluge, which was to be repeated, “ without 
looking at the book.” 

“ While he was wrestling desperately with these — for he 
was determined, as I have said before, to do all in his power 
to keep himself out of trouble — Mrs. Grimstone, in her 
morning wrapper, paid a visit to the dormitories, and, in 
spite of all Paul’s attempts to excuse himself, insisted 
upon pomatuming his hair — an indignity which he felt 
acutely. 

“When she knows who I really am,” he thought, 


5 ° 


VICE VERSA. 


“ she’ll be sorry she made such a point of it. If there’s 
one thing upon earth I loathe more than another, it’s 
marrow-oil pomade ! ” 

Then there was breakfast, at which Dr. Grimstone 
appeared, resplendant in glossy broadcloth, and dazzling 
shirt-front, and semi-clerical white tie, and after break- 
fast, an hour in the schoolroom, during which the boys (by 
the aid of repeated references to the text) wrote out 
“ from memory ” the hymn they had learned, while Paul 
managed somehow to stumble through his dates and 
events to the satisfaction of Mr. Tinkler, who, to 
increase his popularity, made it a point of being as easily 
satisfied with such repetitions as he decently could. 

After that came the order to prepare for church. There 
was a general rush to the little room with the shelves and 
bandboxes, where church books were procured, and great- 
coats and tight kid gloves put on. 

When they were almost ready the doctor came in, 
wearing his blandest and most paternal expression. 

“ Ah — it’s a collection Sunday to-day, boys,” he said. 
“ Have you all got your threepenny-bits ready ? I like to 
see my boys give cheerfully and liberally of their abun- 
dance. If anybody does not happen to have any small 
change, I can accommmodate him if he comes to me.”' 

And this he proceeded to do from a store he had with 
him of that most convenient coin — the chosen expression 
of a congregation’s gratitude — the common silver three- 
pence, for the school occupied a prominent position in the 
church, and had acquired a great reputation among the 
church wardens for the admirable uniformity with which 
one young gentleman after another “ put into the plate 
and this reputation the doctor was naturally anxious that 
they should maintain. 

I am sorry to say that Mr. Bultitude, fearing lest he 
should be asked if he had the required sum about him, 
and thus his penniless condition might be discovered and 
bring him trouble, got behind the door at the beginning 
of the money-changing transactions, and remained there 
till it was over ; it seemed to him that it would be too 
paltry to be disgraced for want of threepence. 

Now, being thus completely furnished for their devo* 


A BA V OF REST. 


5i 


tions, the school formed in couples in the hall and filed 
solemnly out for the march to church. 

Mr. Bultitude walked nearly last with Jolland, whose 
facile nature had almost forgotten his friend’s short- 
comings on the previous day. He kept up a perpetual 
flow of chatter, which, as he never stopped for an 
answer, permitted Paul to indulge his own thoughts 
unrestrained. 

“ Are you going to put your threepenny-bit in ? ” said 
Jolland ; “ I won’t if you don’t. Sometimes, you know, 
when the plate comes round, old Grim squints down the 
pews to see we don’t shirk. Then I put in sixpence. 
Have you done your hymn ? I do hate a hymn. What’s 
the use of learning hymns ? They won’t mark you for 
them, you know, in any exam. I ever heard of, and it 
can’t save you the expense of a hymn-book unless you 
learned all the hymns in it, and that would take you 
years. Oh, I say, look! there’s young Mutlow and his 
governor and mater. I wonder what Mutlow’s governor 
does ? Mutlow says he’s a ‘ gentleman ’ if you ask him, 
but I believe he lies. See that fly driving past ? Mother 
Grim ” (the irreverent youth always spoke of Mrs. Grim- 
stone in this way) “ and Dulcie are in it. I saw Dulcie 
look at you, Dick. It’s a shame to treat her as you did 
yesterday. There’s young Tom on the box ; don’t his 
ears stick out rummily ? I wonder if the ‘ ugly family ’ 
will be at church to-day ? You know the ugly family ; all 
with their mouths open and their eyes goggling, like a 
jolly old row of pantomime heads. And, oh, Dick, sup- 
pose Connie Davenant’s people have changed their pew, 
that’ll be a sell for you rather, won’t it ? ” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Bultitude, stiffly ; 
“ and, if you don’t object, I prefer not to be called upon 
to talk just now.” 

“ Oh, all right! ” said Jolland, “ there aren’t so many 
fellows who will talk to you ; but just as you please — I 
don’t want to talk.” 

And so the pair walked on in silence ; Jolland with his 
nose in the air, determined that after this he really must 
cut his former friend as the other fellows had done, since 
his devotion was appreciated so little, and Paul watching 


VICE VERSA. 


H 2 

the ascending double line of tail chimney-pot hats as they 
surged before him in regular movement, and feeling a dull 
wonder at finding himself setting out to church in such ill- 
assorted company. 

They entered the church, and Paul was sent down to 
the extreme end of a. pew next to the one reserved for the 
doctor and his family. Dulcie was sitting there already 
on the other side of the partition ; but she gave no sign of 
having noticed his arrival, being apparently absorbed in 
studying the rose-window over the altar. 

He sat down in his corner with a sense of rest and 
almost comfort, though the seat was not a cushioned one. 
He had the inoffensive Kiffin for a neighbor, his chief tor- 
mentors were faraway from him in one of the back pews, 
and here at least, he thought, no harm could come to him. 
He could allow himself safely to do what I am afraid he 
generally did do under the circumstances — snatch a few 
intermittent but sweet periods of dreamless slumber. 

But, while the service was proceeding, Mr. Bultitude, 
was suddenly horrified to observe that a young lady, who 
occupied a pew at right angles to and touching that in 
which he sat, was deliberately making furtive signals to 
him in a most unmistakable manner. 

She was a decidedly pretty girl of about fifteen, with 
merry and daring blue eyes and curling golden hair, and 
was accompanied by two small brothers (who shared the 
same book and dealt each other stealthy and vicious kicks 
throughout the service) and by her father, a stout, short- 
sighted old gentleman in gold spectacles, who was perpet- 
ually making the wrong responses in a loud and confident 
tone. 

To be signalled to in a marked manner by a strange 
young lady of great personal attractions might be a coveted 
distinction to other schoolboys, but it simply gave Mr. 
Bultitude cold thrills. 

“ I suppose that’s * Connie Davenant,’ ” he thought, 
shocked beyond measure as she caught his eye and 
coughed demurely for about the fourth time. “ A very 
forward young person ! I think somebody ought to speak 
seriously to her father.” 

“ Good gracious ! she’s writing something on the fly-leaf 


A DAY OF REST 


*53 

of her prayer-book,” he said to himself presently. “ 1 
hope she’s not going to send it to me. I won’t take it. 
She ought to be ashamed of herself ! ” 

Miss Davenant was indeed busily engaged in penciling 
something on a blank sheet of paper ; and, having finished, 
she folded it deftly into a cocked-hat, wrote a few words 
on the .outside; and placed it between the leaves of her 
book. 

Then, as the congregation rose for the Psalms, she gave 
a meaning glance at the blushing and scandalized Mr. 
Bultitude, and, by dexterous management of her prayer- 
book, shot the little cocked-hat, as if unconsciously into 
the next pew. 

By a very unfortunate miscalculation, however, the note 
missed its proper object, and, clearing the partition, flut- 
tered deliberately down on the floor by Dulcie’s feet. 

Paul saw this with alarm ; he knew that at all hazards 
he must get that miserable note into his own possession 
and destroy it. It might have his name somewhere about 
it : it might seriously compromise him. 

So he took advantage of the noise the congregation 
made in repeating a verse aloud (it was not a high church) 
to whisper to Dulcie : “ Little Miss Grimstone, excuse 
me, but there’s a — a note in the pew down by your feet. 
I believe it is intended for me.” 

Dulcie had seen the whole affair, and had been not a 
little puzzled by it, a clandestine correspondence being a 
new thing in her short experience ; but she understood 
that in this golden-haired girl, her elder by several years, 
she saw her rival, for whom Dick had so basely aban- 
doned her yesterday, and she was old enough to feel the 
slight and the sweetness of revenge. 

So she held her head rather higher than usual, with her 
firm little chin projecting willfully, and waited for the 
last verse but one before retorting, “ Little Master Bulti- 
tude, I know it is.” 

“ Could you — can you manage to reach it ? ” whispered 
Paul, entreatingly. 

“ Yes,” said Dulcie, “ I could.” 

“ Then will you — when they sit down ? ” 

i l No,” said Dulcie, firmly, “ I shan’t.” 


J 54 


VICE FEES A. 


The other girl, she noticed with satisfaction, had become 
aware of the situation, and was evidently uneasy. She 
looked as imploringly as she dared at remorseless little 
Dulcie, as if appealing to her not to get her into trouble ; 
but Dulcie bent her eyes obstinately on her book and 
would not see her. 

If the letter had been addressed to any other boy ip the 
school, she would have done her best to shield the 
culprits ; but this she could not bring herself to do here. 
She found a malicious pleasure in remaining absolutely 
neutral, which, of course, was very wrong and ill-natured 
of her. 

Mr. Bultitude began now to be seriously alarmed. The 
fatal paper must be seen by some one in the doctor’s 
pew as soon as the congregation sat down again ; and, if 
it reached the doctor’s hands, it was impossible to say 
what misconstruction he might put upon it, or what terri- 
ble consequences might not follow. 

He was innocent, perfectly innocent ; but, though the 
consciousness of innocence is frequently a great consola- 
tion, he felt that, unless he could imbue the doctor with 
it as well, it would not save him from a flogging. 

So he made one more desperate attempt to soften 
Dulcie’s resolution, “ Don’t be a naughty little girl,” he 
said, very injudiciously for his purpose ; “ I tell you I 
must have it. You’ll get me into a terrible mess if you’re 
not careful ! ” 

But, although Dulcie had been extremely well brought, 
up, I regret to say that the only answer she chose to 
make to this appeal was that slight contortion of the 
features which with a pretty girl is euphemized as a 
“ mone ,” and with a plain one is called “ making a face.” 
When he saw it, he knew that all hope of changing her 
purpose must be abandoned. 

Then they all sat down, and, as Paul had foreseen, there 
the white cocked-hat lay on the dark pew-carpet, hideously 
distinct, with billet doux in every fold of it ! 

It could only be a question of time now. The curate 
reading the first lesson for the day, but Mr. Bultitude 
heard not a verse of it. He was waiting with bated breath 
for the blow to fall. 


A DA Y OF FEST. 


*55 

It fell at last. Dulcie, either with the malevolent idea 
of hastening the crisis, or (which I prefer to believe for 
my own part) finding that her ex-lover’s visible tor- 
ments were too much for her desire of vengeance, 
was softly moving a heavy hassock toward the guilty 
note. The movement caught her mother’s eye, and in 
an instant the compromising paper was in her watchful 
hands. 

She read it with incredulous horror, and handed at once 
to the doctor. 

The golden-haired one saw it all without betraying her- 
self by any outward confusion. She had probably had 
some experience in such matters, and felt tolerably cer- 
tain of being able, at the worst, to manage the old gentle- 
man in the gold spectacles. But she took an early oppor- 
tunity of secretly conveying her contempt for the traitress 
Dulcie, who continued to meet her angry glances with the 
blandest unconsciousness. 

Dr. Grimstone examined the cocked-hat through his 
double eyeglasses, with a heavy thunder-cloud gathering 
on his brows. When he had mastered it thoroughly, he 
bent forward and glared indignantly past his wife and 
daughter for at least half a minute into the pew where Mr. 
Bultitude was cowering, until he felt that he was coming 
all to pieces under the piercing gaze. 

The service passed all to quickly after that. Paul sat 
down and stood up almost unconsciously with the rest; 
but for the first time in his life he could have wished the 
sermon many times longer. 

The horror of his position quite petrified him. After all 
his prudent resolutions to keep out of mischief and to win 
the regard and confidence of his jailer by his good con- 
duct, like the innocent convict in a melodrama, this came 
as nothing less than a catastrophe. He walked home in a 
truly dismal state of limp terror. 

Fortunately for him, none of the others seemed to have 
noticed his misfortune, and Jolland made no further ad- 
vances. But even the weather tended to increase his de- 
pression, for it was a bleak, cheerless day, with a bitter 
and searching wind sweeping the gritty roads where 
yesterday’s rain was turned to black ice in the ruts, and 


VICE VERSA. 


156 

the sun shone with a dull coppery glitter that had no 
warmth or geniality about it. 

The nearer they came to Crichton House the more ab- 
jectly miserable became Mr. Bultitude’s state of mind. 
It was as much as he could do to crawl up the steps to 
front door, and his knees positively clapped together when 
the doctor, who had driven home, met them in the hall 
and said, in a still grave voice, “ Bultitude, when you have 
taken off your coat, I want you in the study.” 

He was as long about taking off his coat as he dared, 
but at last he went trembling into the study, which he 
found empty. He remembered the room well, with its 
ebony-framed etchings on the walls, book-cases and 
blue china over the draped mantel-piece, even to a large 
case of elaborately carved Indian chessmen in bullock- 
carts and palanquins, on horses and elephants, which 
stood in the window-recess. It was the very room to which 
he had been shown when he first called about sending his 
son to the school. He had little thought then that the 
time would come when he would attend there for the pur- 
pose of being flogged ; few things would have seemed less 
probable. Yet there he was. 

But his train of thought was abruptly broken by the 
entrance of the doctor. He marched solemnly in, 
holding out the offending missive. “ Look here, sir ! ” he 
said, shaking it angrily before Paul’s eyes, “ Look here ! 
what do you mean by receiving a flippant communication 
like this in a sacred edifice ? What do you mean by 
it ? ” ' 

“ I — I didn’t receive it,” said Paul, at his wits end. 

“ Don’t prevaricate with me, sir ; you know well enough 
it was intended for you. Have the goodness to read 
it now, and tell me what you have to say for your- 
self ! ” 

Paul read it. It was a silly little school-girl note, half 
slang and half sentiment, signed only with the initials C. 
D. “ Well, sir ? ” said the doctor. 

“ It’s very forward and improper — very,” said Paul ; 
“ but it’s not my fault — I can’t help it. I gave the girl 
no encouragement. I never saw her before in my 
life ! ” 


A DAY OF REST. 


157 


“To my own knowledge, Bultitude, she has sat in that 
pew regularly for a year.” 

“ Very probably,” said Paul, “but I don’t notice these 
matters. I’m past that sort of thing, my dear sir.” 

“ What is her name ? Come, sir, you know that.” 

“ Connie Davenant,” said Paul, taken unawares by the 
suddenness of the question. “ At least, I — I heard so to- 
day.” He felt the imprudence of such an admission as 
soon as he had made it. 

“ Very odd that you know her name if you never noticed 
her before,” said the doctor. 

“ Jolland told me,” said Paul. 

“ Ah, but it’s odder still that she knows yours, for I per- 
ceive it is directed to you by name.” 

“ It’s easily explained, my dear sir,” said Paul ; “ easily 
explained. I’ve no doubt she heard it somewhere. At 
least, I never told her ; it is not likely. I do assure you I’m 
as much distressed and shocked by this affair as you can 
be yourself. I am indeed. I don’t know what girls are 
coming to nowadays.” 

“ Do you expect me to believe that you are perfectly in- 
nocent ? ” said the doctor. 

“ Yes, I do,” said Mr. Bultitude. “ I can’t prevent 
fast young ladies from sending me notes. Why, she might 
have sent you one ! ” 

“ We won’t go into hypothetical cases,” said the doctor, 
not relishing the war being carried into his own country ; 
“ she happened to prefer you. But, although your vir- 
tuous indignation seems to me a trifle overdone, sir, I 
don’t see my way clear to punishing you on the facts, 
especially as you tell me you never encouraged these — 
these overtures, and my Dulcie, I am bound to say, con- 
firms your statement that it was all the other young lady’s 
doing. But, if I had had any proof that you had begun 
or responded to her — hem — advances, nothing could have 
saved you from a severe flogging at the very least ; so be 
careful for the future.” 

“Ah,” said Paul, rather feebly, quite overwhelmed by 
the narrowness of his escape. Then, with a desperate 
effort, he found courage to add : “ May I — ah — take ad- 

vantage of this — this restored cordiality, to— to — in fact, 


I5S 


VICE VERSA. 


to make a brief personal explanation ? It — it’s what I’ye 
been trying to tell you for a long time, ever since I first 
came, only you never will hear me out. It’s highly impor- 
tant. You’ve no notion how serious it is ! ” 

“ There’s something about you this term, Richard Bul- 
titude,” said the doctor, slowly, “ that I confess I don’t 
understand. This obstinacy is unusual in a boy of your 
age, and if you really have a mystery it may be as well to 
have it out and have done with it. But I can’t be an- 
noyed with it now. Come to me after supper to-night, 
and I shall be willing to hear anything you may have to 
say.” 

Paul was too overcome at this unexpected favor to speak 
his thanks. He got away as soon as he could. His path 
was smoothed at last ! 

That afternoon the boys, or all of them who had dis- 
posed of the work set them for the day, were sitting in 
the school-room, after a somewhat chilly dinner of cold 
beef, cold tarts, and cold water, passing the time with 
that description of literature known as “ Sunday read- 
ing.” 

And here, at the risk of being guilty of digression, I 
must pause to record my admiration for this exceedingly 
happy form of compromise, which is, I think, peculiar 
to the British and, to a certain extent, the x\merican 
nations. 

It has many developments. From the mild transatlan- 
tic compound of cookery and campmeetings, to the semi- 
novel, redeemed and chastened by an arrangement which 
sandwiches a sermon or a biblical lecture between each 
chapter of the story — a great convenience for the race of 
skippers. 

But the crown and triumph of successful trimming must 
surely be looked for in the illustrated Sabbath magazines, 
in many of which there is so dexterous a combination of 
this world and the next that even a public analyst might 
find it difficult to resolve them. 

Open any one of the monthly numbers, and the chances 
are you will find at one part a neat little doctrinal essay 
by a literary bishop ; at another, a paper upon “ cock- 
roaches and their habits ” by an eminent savant ; some- 


A BAY OF REST. 


159 


where else, a description of foreign travel, done in a bril- 
liant and wholly secular vein ; and, farther on again, an 
* article on aesthetic furniture — the balance of the number 
being devoted to instalments of two thrilling novels by 
popular authors, whose theology is seldom their strongest 
point. 

Oddly enough, too, when these very novels come out 
later in three-volume form, with the “ mark of the beast ” 
in the shape of a circulating library ticket upon them, 
they will be fortunate if they are not interdicted altogether 
by some of the serious families who take in the magazines 
as being “ so suitable for Sundays.” 

It was the editor of one of these magazines, indeed, 
who is said, though I do not vouch for the truth of the 
story, to have implored the author, who was running a 
4 novel through his columns, to shift the date on which he 
had made his lovers meet from Saturday afternoon to 
“ Sunday after church time,” in deference to the suscepti- 
bilities of his subscribers. 

Mr. Bultitude, at all events had no reason to complain 
of the system. For in one of the bound volumes sup- 
plied to him he found a most interesting and delightfully 
unsectarian novel, w r hich appealed to his tastes as a busi- 
ness man, for it was all about commerce and making for- 
tunes by blockade-running ; and, though he was no novel 
reader as a rule, his mind was so relieved and set at rest 
by the prospect o£ seeing the end of his troubles at last 
that he was able to occupy his mind wdth the fortunes of 
the hero. 

He naturally detected technical errors here and there. 
But that pleased him, and he w ? as becoming so deeply ab- 
sorbed in the tale that he felt seriously annoyed w’hen 
Chawner came softly up to the desk at which he was sit- 
ting, and sat down close to him, crossing his aims before 
him, and leaning forward upon them with his sallow r face 
toward Paul. 

“ Dickie,” he began in a cautious, oily tone, “ did I hear 
the doctor say before dinner that he w r ould hear anything 
you have to tell him after supper ? Did I ? ” 

“ I really can’t say, sir,” said Paul ; “ if you were near 
the key-hole at the time, very likely you did.” 


i6o 


VICE VERSA. 


“ The door was open,” said Chawner, “ and I was in 
the cloak-room, so I heard, and I want to know. What is 
it you’re going to tell the doctor? ” 

“ Mind your own business, sir,” said Paul, sharply. 

“ It is my own business,” said Chawner ; “ but I 
don’t want to be told what you’re going to tell him. I 
know.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, annoyed to find 
his secret in possession of this boy of all others. 

“ Yes,” repeated Chawner, “ I know, and I tell you 
what — I won’t have it ! ” 

“ Won’t have it ! and why ? ” 

“ Never mind why. Perhaps I don’t choose that the 
doctor shall be told just yet ; perhaps I mean to go up 
and tell him myself some other day. I wan’t to have a 
little more fun out of it before I’ve done.” 

“ But — but,” said Paul, “ you young ghoul, do you mean 
to say that all you care for is to see other people’s suffer- 
ings ? ” 

Sludge grinned maliciously.” “Yes,” he said, suavely, 
“ it amuses me.” 

“ And so,” said Paul, “ you wan’t to hold me back a 
little longer — because it’s so funny ; and then, when you’re 
quite tired of your sport, you’ll go up and tell the doctor 
my — my unhappy story yourself, eh ? No, my friend ; 
I’d rather not tell him myself — but I’ll be shot if I let you 
have a finger in it. I know my own interests better than 
that ! ” 

“Don’t get in a passion, Dickie,” said Chawner; “it’s 
Sunday. You’ll have to let me go up instead of you — 
when I’ve frightened them a little more.” 

“ What do you mean by them, sir ? ” said Paul, growing 
puzzled. 

“ As if you didn’t know ! Oh, you’re too clever for me, 
Dickie, I can see,” sniggered Chawner. 

“ I tell you I don’t know ! ” said Mr. Bultitude. “ Look 
here, Chawner — your confounded name is Chawner, isn’t 
it ? — there’s a mistake somewhere, I’m sure of it. Listen 
to me. I’m not going to tell the doctor what you think J 
am ! ” 

“ What do I think you are going to tell him ? ” 


A DAY OF REST. 


161 


“ I haven’t the slightlest idea ; but, whatever it is, 
you’re wrong.” 

“ Ah, you’re too clever, Dickie ; you won’t betray your- 
self ; but other people want to pay Coker and Tipping 
out as well as you, and I say you must wait.” 

“ I shan’t say anything to effect any one but myself,” 
said Paul ; “ if you know all about it, you must know that 
— it won’t interfere with your amusement that I can see.” 

“ Yes, it will,” said Chawner, irritably, “ it will — you 
mayn’t mean to tell of any one but yourself ; but, directly 
Grimstone asks you questions, it all comes out. I know 
all about it. And, anyway, I forbid you to go up till I 
give you leave.” 

“ And who the dooce are you ? “ said Mr. Bultitude, 
nettled at this assumption of authority. “ How are you 
going to prevent me, may I ask ? ” 

“ S’sh ! here’s the doctor,” whispered Chawner, hur- 
riedly. “ I’ll tell you after tea. What am I doing out of 
my place, sir ? Oh, I was only asking Bultitude what 
was the collect for to-day, sir. Fourth Sunday after the 
Epiphany ? thank you, Bultitude.” 

And he glided back to his seat, leaving Paul in a state 
of vague uneasiness. Why did this fellow, with the infer- 
nal sly face and glib tongue, want to prevent him from 
righting himself with the world, and how could he possi- 
bly prevent him ? It was absurd ; he would take no notice 
of the young scoundrel — he would defy him. 

But he could not banish the uneasy feeling ; the cup 
had slipped so many times before at the critical moment 
that he could not be sure whose hand would be the next 
to jog his elbow. And so he went down to tea with 
renewed misgivings. 


VICE VERSA. 


162 


CHAPTER XII. 

AGAINST TIME. 

“There is a kind of Followers likewise, which are dangerous, being indeed 
Espials ; which enquire the Secrets of the House and beare Tales 
of them.” — Bacon. 

“ Then give me leave that I may turn the key, 

That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Very possibly Chawner’s interference in Mr. Bultitude’s 
private affairs has surprised others besides the victim of 
it ; but the fact is that there was a most unfortunate mis- 
understanding between them from the very first, which 
prevented the one from seeing, the other from explaining, 
the real state of the case. 

Chawner, of course, no more guessed Paul’s true name 
and nature than any one else who had come in contact 
with him in his impenetrable disguise, and his motive for 
attempting to prevent an interview with the doctor can 
only, I fear be explained by another slight digression. 

The doctor, from a deep sense of his responsibility for 
the morals of those under his care, was perhaps a trifle 
over-anxious to clear his moral garden of every noxious 
weed, and too constant in his vigilant efforts to detect 
the growing shoot of evil from the moment it showed 
above the surface. 

As he could not be everywhere, however, it is evident 
that many offences, trivial or otherwise, must have 
remained unsuspected and unpunished, but for a theory 
which he had originated and took great pains to propa- 
gate among his pupils. 

The theory was that every right-minded boy ought to 
feel himself in such a fiduciary position toward his master 
that it became a positive duty to aquaint him with any de- 
linquencies he might happen to observe among his fellows ; 
and, if, at the same time, he was oppressed by a secret 
burden on his own conscience, it was understood that he 


AGAINST TIME. . 163 

might hope that the joint revelation would go far to 
mitigate his own punishment. 

It is doubtful whether this system, though I believe it 
is found successful in Jesuit colleges, can be usefully ap- 
plied to English boys ; whether it may not produce a habit 
of mutual distrust and suspicion, and a tone the reverse 
of healthy. 

For myself, I am inclined to think that a school-master 
will find it better in the long run, for both the character 
and morals of his school, if he is not too anxious to play 
the detective, and refrains from encouraging the more 
weak-minded or cowardly boys to save themselves by turn- 
ing “ schoolmaster’s evidence.” 

Dr. Grimstone thought otherwise ; but it must be allowed 
that the system, as in vogue at Crichton House, did not 
work well. 

There were boys, of course, who took a sturdier view 
of their own rights and duties, and despised the tale- 
bearers as they deserved; there were others, also, too 
timid and too dependent on the good opinion of others to 
risk the loss of it by becoming informers ; but there were 
always one or two whose consciences were unequeal to 
the burden of their neighbor’s sin, and could only be re- 
lieved by frank and full confession. 

Unhappily they had, as a general rule, contributed 
largely to the sum of guilt themselvs, and did not resort 
to disclosure until detection seemed reasonably imminent, 

Chawner was the leader of this conscientious band ; he 
reveled in the system. It gave him the means at once of 
gratifying the almost universal love of power and indulg- 
ing a catlike passion for playing with the feelings of others, 
which, it is to be hoped, is more uncommon. 

He knew he .was not popular, but he could procure 
most of the incidents of popularity; he could have his 
little court of cringing toadies ; he could levy his tribute 
of conciliatory presents, and vent many private spites and 
hatreds into the bargain — and he generally did. 

Having himself a tendency to acts of sly disobedience, 
he found it a congenial pastime to set the fashion from 
time to time in some one of the peccadilloes to which 
boyhood is prone, and to which the doctor’s somewhat re- 


1 64 VICE VERSA. 

strictive code added a large number, and, as soon as he 
saw a sufficient number of his companions satisfactorily 
implicated, his opportunity came. 

He would take the chief culprits aside, and profess, in 
strict confidence, certain qualms of conscience which he 
feared could only be appeased by unburdening his guilt- 
laden soul. 

To this none would have had any right to object — had 
it not necessarily, or at least from Chawner’s point of 
view, involved a full, true, and particular account of the 
misdoings of each and every one.; and consequently, for 
some time after these professions of misgivings, Chawner 
would be surrounded by a little crowd of anxiously ob- 
sequious friends, all trying hard to overcome his scruples 
or persuade him, at least, to omit their names from his 
revelations. 

Sometimes he would affect to be convinced by their ar- 
guments and send them away reassured ; at others his 
scruples would return in an aggravated form ; and so he 
would keep them on tenter-hooks of suspense for days 
and weeks, until he was tired of the amusement — for this 
practicing on the fears of weaker natures is a horribly 
keen delight to some — or until some desperate little dog, 
unable to bear his torture any longer, would threaten to 
give himself up and make an end of it. 

Then Chawner, to do him justice, always relieved him 
from so disagreeable a necessity, and would go softly into 
the doctor’s study, and, in a subdued and repentant tone, 
pour out his general confession for the public good. 

Probably the doctor did not altogether respect the 
instruments he saw fit to use in this way ; some would 
have declined to hear the informer out, flogged him well, 
and forgotten it ; but Dr. Grimstone — though he was 
hardly likely to be impressed by these exhibitions of 
noble candor, and did not fail to see that the prospect of 
obtaining better terms for the penitent himself had some- 
thing to do with them — yet encouraged the system as a 
matter of policy, went thoroughly into the whole affair, 
and made it the cause of an explosion which he, considered 
would clear the moral atmosphere for some time to come. 


AGAINST TIME. 165 

I hope that, after this explanation, Chawner’s opposition 
to Mr. Bultitude’s plans will be better understood. 

After tea, he made Paul a little sign to follow him, and 
the two went out together into the little glass-house beyond 
the school-room ; it was dark, but there was light enough 
from the room inside for them to see each other’s face. 

“ Now, sir,” began Paul, with dignity, when he had 
closed the glass door behind him, “ perhaps you’ll be good 
enough to tell me how you mean to prevent me from 
seeing Dr. Grimstone, and telling him — telling him what I 
have to tell him ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you, Dickie,” said Chawner, with an evil smirk. 
“ You shall know soon enough.” 

“ Don’t stand grinning at me like that, sir,” said the 
angry Mr. Bultitude ; “ say it out at once ; it will make no 
difference to me, I give you warning ! ” 

“ Oh, yes it will, though. I think it will. Wait. I heard 
all you said to Grimstone in the study . to-day about that 
girl — Connie Davenant, you know.” 

“ I don’t care ; I am innocent. I have nothing to 
reproach myself with.” 

“ What a liar you are ! ” said Chawner, more in admira- 
tion than rebuke. “ You told him you never gave her 
any encouragement, didn’t you ? And he said, if he ever 
found you had, nothing could save you from a licking, 
didn’t he ? ” 

“ He did,” said Paul ; “ he was quite right from his 
point of view — what then ? ” 

“ Why this,” said Chawner : “ Do you remember giving 
Jolland, the last Sunday of last term, a note for that very 
girl ? ” 

“ I never did ! ” said poor Mr. Bultitude, “ I never saw 
the wretched girl before.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Chawner, “ but I’ve got the note in my 
pocket! Jolland was seedy, and asked me to take it for 
you, and I read it, and it was so nicely written that I 
thought I should like to keep it myself, and so I did — 
and here it is ! ” 

And he drew out with great caution a piece of crumbled 
paper and showed it to the horrified old gentleman. 
“ Don’t snatch . . . it’s rude ; there it is, you see \ 


1 66 


VICE VERSA. 


1 My dear Connie yours ever, Dick Bultitude,’ 

No, you don’t come any nearer . . . there, now it’s 

safe. . . . Now what do you mean to do ? ” 

“ I — I don’t know,” said Paul, feeling absolutely check- 
mated. “ Give me time.” 

“ I tell you what I mean to do ; I shall keep my eye on 
you, and, directly I see you making ready to go to Grim- 
stone, I shall get up first and take him this . . . then 

you’ll be done for. You’d better give in, really, Dickie ! ” 
The note was too evidently genuine. Dick must have 
written it (as a matter of fact he had ; in a moment of 
pique, no doubt, at some caprice of his real enslaver 
Dulcie’s — but his fickleness brought . fatal results on his 
poor father’s undeserving head) ; if this diabolical Chaw- 
ner carried out his threats, he would indeed be “ done for ” ; 
he did not yet fully understand the other’s motive, but he 
thought that he feared lest Paul, in declaring his own sor- 
rows, might also accuse Tipping and Coker of acts of 
cruelty and oppression, which Chawner proposed to de- 
nounce himself at some more convenient opportunity ; he 
hesitated painfully. 

“ Well,” said Chawner, “ make up your mind ; are you 
going to tell him-, or not ? ” 

“ I must ! ” said Paul, hoarsely. “ I promise you I . 
shall not bring any other names in ... I don’t want 
to ... I only want to save myself — and I can’t stand 
it any longer. Why should you stand between me and my 
rights in this currish way ? I didn’t know there were boys 
like you in the world, sir ; you’re a young monster ! ” 

“ I don’t mean you to tell the doctor anything at all,” 
said Chawner. “ I shall do what I said.” 

“ Then do your worst ! ” cried Paul, stung to defiance. 

“ Very well, then,” returned Chawner, meekly, “I will — 
and we’ll see who wins ! ” 

And they went back to the school-room again, where Mr. 
Bultitude, boiling with rage and seriously alarmed as well, 
tried to sit down and appear as if nothing had happened. 

Chawner sat down too, in a place from which he could 
see all Paul’s movements, and they both watched one 
another anxiously from the corners of their eyes till the 
doctor came in. 


AGAINST TIME. 


167 


“ It’s a foggy evening,” he said as he entered ; “ the 
younger boys had better stay in. Chawner, you and the 
rest of the first form can go to church ; get ready at once.” 

Paul’s heart leaped with triumph ; with his enemy out 
of the way, he could carry out his purpose unhindered. 
The same thing apparently occured to Chawner, for he 
said, mildly, “ Please, sir, may Richard Bultitude come 
too ? ” 

“ Can’t Bultitude ask leave for himself ? ” said the 
doctor. 

“ I, sir ! ” said the horrified Paul, “ it’s a mistake — I 
don’t want to go. I — I don’t feel very well this even- 
ing!” 

“ Then you see, Chawner, you misunderstood him. By 
the way, Bultitude, there was something you were to tell 
me, I think ! ” 

Chawner’s small glittering eyes were fixed on Paul men- 
acingly as he managed to stammer that he did want to say 
something in private. 

“ Very well, I am going out to see a friend for an hour 
or so ; when I come back I will hear,” and he left the 
room abruptly. 

Chawner would very probably have petitioned to stay in 
that evening as well, had he had time and presence of 
mind to do so ; as it was, he was obliged to go away and 
get ready for church ; but when his preparations were 
made he came back to Paul, *and leaning over him said, 
with an unpleasant scowl, “ If I get back in time, Bulti- 
tude, we’ll see whether you balk me quite so easily. If I 
come back and find you’ve done it — I shall take in that 
letter ! ” 

“ You may do what you please, then,” said Paul, in a 
high state of irritation ; “ I shall be well out of your reach 
by that time. Now have the goodness to take yourself 
off.” 

As he went, Mr. Bultitude thought, “ I never in all my 
life saw such a fellow as that, never ! It would give me 
real pleasure to hire some one to kick him.” 

The evening passed quietly ; the boys left at home sat 
in their places, reading or pretending to read. Mr. Blink- 
horn, left in charge of them, was at his table in the corner 


i68 


VICE VERSA. 


noting up his diary. Paul was free for a time to think 
over his position. 

At first he was calm and triumphant ; his dearest hopes, 
his long-wished-for opportunity of a fair and unprejudiced 
hearing, were at last to be fulfilled ; Chawner was well out 
of the way for the best part of two hours — the doctor was 
very unlikely to be detained nearly so long over one call. 
His one anxiety was lest he might not be able, after all, to 
explain himself in a thoroughly effective manner ; he plan- 
ned out a little scheme for doing this. 

He must begin gradually, of course, so as not to alarm 
the schoolmaster or raise doubts of his sincerity, or, worse 
still, his sanity. Perhaps a slight glance at instances of 
extraordinary interventions of the supernatural from the 
earliest times, tending to show the extreme probability of 
their survival on rare occasions even to the present day, 
might be a prudent and cautious introduction to the sub- 
ject — only he could not think of any, and, after all, it 
might weary the doctor. 

He would start somewhat in this manner : “You can 
not, my dear sir, have failed to observe, since our meeting 
this year, a certain difference in my manner and bearing ” 
— one’s projected speeches are somehow generally couch- 
ed in finer language than, when it comes to the point, the 
tongue can be prevailed upon to utter. Mr. Bultitude 
learned this opening sentence by heart ; he thought it 
taking and neat — the sort of thing to fix his hearer’s atten- 
tion from the first. 

After that, he found it difficult to get any further ; he 
knew himself that all he was about to describe was plain, 
unvarnished fact — but how would it strike on a stranger’s 
ear ? he himself seeking ways in which to tone down the 
glaring improbability of the thing as much as possible, 
but in vain. “ I don’t know how I shall ever get it all 
out,” he told himself at last ; if I think about it much 
longer I shall begin to disbelieve in it myself.” 

Here Eiddlecomb came up in a confidential manner and 
sat down by Paul. “ Dick,” he began, in rather a trembling 
voice, “ did I hear the doctor say something about your 
having something to tell him ? ” 

“ Oh, Lord, here’s another of them now ! ” thought 


AGAINST TIME. 


t6g 


Paul. “ You are right, young sir,” he said ; “ have you 
any objection ? mention it, you know, if you have, pray 
mention it. It’s a matter of life and death to me, but 
if you at all disapprove, of course that ought to be final ! ” 

“ No, but,” protested Biddlecomb, “ I — I daresay I’ve 
not treated you very well lately, I — ” 

“ You were kind enough to suggest several very uncom- 
monly unpleasant ways of annoying me, sir,” said Paul, 
resentfully, “if you mean that. You’ve kicked me more 
than once, and your handkerchief, unless I am very much 
mistaken, had the biggest and the hardest knot in it 
yesterday. If that gives you the right to interfere and 
dictate to me now, like your amiable friend, Master Chaw- 
ner, I suppose you have it.” 

“ Now you’re angry,” said Biddlecomb, humbly ; “ I 
don’t wonder at it. I’ve behavedjike a cad, I know, but, 
and this is what I wanted to say, I was sorry for you all 
the time.” 

“ That’s very comforting,” said Paul, dryly ; “ thank you. 
I’m vastly obliged to you.” 

“ I was, though,” said Biddlecomb ; “ I — I was led 
away by the other fellows — I always liked you, you know, 
Bultitude.” 

“ You’ve a very odd way of showing your affection,” 
remarked Mr. Bultitude ; “but go on, let me hear all you 
have to say.” 

“ It isn’t much,” said Biddlecomb, quite broken down ; 
“ only don’t speak of me this time, Dick ; let me off, 
there’s a good fellow. I’ll stick up for you after this, I 
will really. You used not to be a fellow for sneaking 
once. It’s caddish to sneak ! ” 

“ Don’t be alarmed, my good friend,” said Paul ; “ I 
won’t poach on that excellent young man Chawner’s 
preserves. What I am going to tell the doctor has nothing 
to do with you.” 

“ On your honor?” said Biddlecomb, eagerly. 

“ Yes,” said Paul, testily, “ on my honor. Now, per- 
haps, you’ll let me alone. ~No, I won’t shake hands, sir. 
I’ve had to accept your kicks, but I don’t want your 
friendship.” 

Biddlecomb went off, looking slightly ashamed of him- 


170 


VICE VERSA. 


self, but visibly relieved from a haunting fear. u Thank 
goodness ! ” thought Paul, “ he wasn’t as obstinate as the 
other fellow. What a set they are ! I knew it ; there’s 
another boy coming up now ! ” 

And, indeed, one boy after another came up in the same 
way as Biddlecomb had done, some cringing more than 
others, but all vowing that they had never intended to do 
any harm, and entreating him to change his mind about 
complaining of his ill-treatment. They brought little 
offerings to propitiate him and prove the depth of their 
unaltered regard — pencil-cases and pocket-knives, and so 
forth, until they drove Paul nearly to desperation. How- 
ever, he succeeded in dispelling their fears after some hot 
arguments, and had just sent away the last suppliant when 
he saw Jolland, too, rise and come toward him. 

Jolland leaned across Paul’s desk with folded arms and 
looked him full in the face with his shallow, light green 
eyes. “ I don’t know what you’ve said to all those chaps,” 
he began ; “ they’ve come back looking precious glum, but 
they won’t tell me what you said ” (Mr. Bultitude had in 
satisfying their alarm taken care to let them know his pri- 
vate opinion of them, which was not flattering) ; “ but I’ve 
got something to say to you, and it’s this : I never thought 
you would quite come down to this sort of thing ! ” 

“ What sort of thing ? said Paul, who was beginning 
to have enough of it. 

“ Why, going up and letting on against all of us — it’s 
mean, you know. If you have got bashed about pretty 
well since you came back, it’s.been all your own fault, and 
you know it. Last term you got on well enough — this 
time you began to be queer and nasty the very first day 
you came. I thought it was one of your larks at first, but 
I don’t know wh^t it is now, and I don’t care. I stood 
up for you as long as I could, till you acted like a funk 
yesterday. Then I took my share in lamming you, and 
I’d do it again. But, if you are cad enough to pay us all 
out in this way, I’ll have no more to do with you — mind 
that. That’s all I came to say.” 

This was an unpalatable way of putting things, but 
Paul could not help seeing that there was some truth in it. 
Jolland had been kind to him, too, in a careless sort of 


AGAINST TIME. 


171 


way, and at some cost to himself ; so it was with more 
mildness than temper that he answered him. 

“ You’re on the wrong tack, my boy, the wrong tack. 
I’ve no wish to tell tales of any one, as I’ve been trying 
to explain to your friends. There’s something the matter 
with me which you wouldn’t understand if I told you.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t know,” said Jolland, mollified; “if it’s 
only physic you want.” 

“ Whatever it is,” said Paul, not caring to undeceive 
him, “ it won’t affect you or any one here, but myself. 
You’re not a bad young fellow, I believe. I don’t want 
to get you in to trouble, sir *you don’t want much assistance, 
I’m afraid, in that department. So be off, like a good 
fellow, and leave me in peace.” 

All these inteviews had taken time. He was alarmed 
on looking at the clock to see that it was nearly eight ; 
the doctor was a long time over that call. For the first 
time he began to feel uneasy ; he made hurried mental 
calculations as to the probability of the doctor or Chaw- 
ner being the first to return. 

The walk to church took about twenty minutes ; say 
the service took an hour, allowing for the return, he 
might expect Chawner by about half-past eight ; it was 
striking the hour now — half an hour only in which he 
could hope for any favorable result from the interview. 

For he saw this plainly, that if Chawner were once per- 
mitted to get the doctor’s ear first and show him that in- 
famous love-note, no explanation of his (even if he had 
nerve to make it then, which he doubted) could possibly 
seem anything more than a desperate and far-fetched 
excuse ; if he could anticipate Chawner, on the other 
hand, and once convince the doctor of the truth of his 
story, the informer’s malice would fall flat. 

And still the long hand went rapidly on, as Mr. Bulti- 
tude sat staring stupidly at it with a faint sick feeling — it 
had passed the quarter now — why did the doctor delay in 
this unwarrantable manner ? What a farce social civilities 
were — if he had allowed himself to be prevailed on to 
stay to supper ! Twenty minutes past ; Chawner and the 
others might return at any moment — a ring at The bell ; 
they were there ! all was over now — no, he was saved, 


172 


VICE VERSA. 


that was Dr. Grimstone’s voice in the hall — what an 
unconscionable time he was taking off his great coat and 
gloves ! 

But all comes to the man who waits. In another mo- 
ment the doctor looked in, singled out Mr. Bultitude with a 
sharp glance, and a “ Now, Bultitude, I will hear you ! ” 
and led the way to his study. 

Paul staggered rather than walked after him ; as usual 
at the critical, moment, his carefully prepared opening had 
deserted him — his head felt heavy and crowded — he 
wanted to run away, but forced himself to overcame such 
a suicidal proceeding and follow to the study. 

There was a lighted reading-lamp with a green glass 
shade upon the table; The doctor sat down by it in an 
arm-chair by the fire, crossed his legs, and joined the tops 
of his fingers together. “ Now, Bultitude,” he said 
again. 

“ Might I — might I sit down ? ” said poor Mr. Bultitude, 
in a thick voice ; it was all that occurred to him to 
say. 

“ Sit, by all means,” said the doctor, blandly. 

So Paul drew a chair opposite the doctor and sat down. 
He tried desperately to clear his head and throat and be- 
gin ; but the only distinct thought in his mind just then 
was that the green lamp-shade lent a particularly ghastly 
hue to the doctor’s face. 

“ Take your time, Bultitude,” said the latter, after a long 
minute, in which a little skeleton clock on the mantelpiece 
ticked loudly ; “ there’s no hurry, my boy.” 

But this only reminded Paul that there was every need 
for hurry. Chawner might come in, and follow him here, 
unless he made haste. 

Still, he could only say ; “ You see me in a very 
agitated state, Dr. Grimstone — a very agitated state, 
sir.” 

The doctor gave a short, dry cough. “ Well, Bultitude, ” 
he said. 

“ The fact is, sir, I’m in a most unfortunate position 
and — and the worst of it is, I don’t know how to begin.” 
Here he^nade another dead stop, while the doctor raised 
his heavy eyebrows, and looked at the clock. “ Do you 


AGAINST TIME. 


173 


see any prospect of your finding yourself able to begin 
soon ? ” he inquired, at last, with rather suspicious suavity. 
“ Perhaps if you came to me latter on — ” 

“ Not for the world ! ” said Paul, in a highly nervous 
condition. “ I shall begin very soon, doctor, I shall be- 
gin directly. Mine is such a very singular case ; it’s 
difficult, as you see, to — to open it ! ” 

“ Have you anything on your mind ! ” asked the doctor, 
suddenly. 

Paul could hear steps and voices in the adjoining cloak 
room — the churchgoers had returned. “ Yes — no ! ” he 
answered, losing his head completely now. 

“ That’s a somewhat extraordinary, not to say an am- 
biguous, reply,” said the doctor ; “what am I to under- 
stand by — ” 

There was a tap at the door. Paul started to his feet 
in a panic. “ Don’t let him in ! ” he shrieked, finding his 
voice at last. “ Hear me first— you shall hear me first ? 
Say that other rascal is not to come in. He wants to ruin 
me ! ” 

“ I was going to say I was engaged ” said the doctor ; 
“but there’s something under this I must understand. 
Come in, whoever you are.” 

And the door opened softly, and Chawner stepped meek- 
ly in ; he was rather pale, and breathed hard, but was 
otherwise quite composed. 

“Now, then, Chawner,” said the doctor, impatiently, 
“what is it ? Have you something on your mind too ? ” 

“Please, sir,” said Chawner, “has Bultitude told you 
anything yet ? ” 

“ No ; why ? Hold your tongue, Bultitude. I shall hear 
Chawner now — not you ! ” 

“ Because, sir,” explained Chawner, “ he knew I had 
made up my mind to tell you something I thought you 
ought to know about him, and so he threatened to come 
first and tell some falsehood (I’m sure I don’t know 
what) about me, sir. I think I ought to be here too.” 

“ It’s a lie ! ” shouted Paul. “ What a villain that boy 
is ! Don’t believe a word he says, Dr. Grimstone ; it’s all 
false — all ! ” 

“ This is very suspicious,” said the doctor ; if your con.- 


174 VICE VERSA . 

science were good, Bultitude, you could have no object in 
preventing me from hearing Chawner. Chawner, in spite 
of some obvious defects in his character,” he went on, 
with a gulp (he never could quite overcome a repulsion to 
the boy), “ is, on the whole, a right-minded and, ah, con- 
scientious boy. I hear Chawner first.” 

“ Then, sir, if you please,” said Chawner, with an odious 
side smirk of triumph at Paul, who, quite crushed by the 
horror of the situation, had collapsed feebly on his chair 
again, “ I thought it was my duty to let you see this. I 
found it to day in Bultitude’s prayer-book, sir.” And he 
handed Dick’s unlucky scrawl to the doctor, who took it 
to the lamp and read it hurriedly through. 

After that there was a terrible moment of dead silence ; 
then the doctor looked up and said, shortly : “ You did 
well to tell me of this, Chawner ; you may go now.” 

When they were alone once more he turned upon the 
speechless Paul with furious scorn and indignation. “ Con- 
temptible liar and hypocrite,” he thundered, pacing rest- 
lessly up and down the room in his excitement, till Paul 
felt very like Daniel, without his sense of security, “ you 
are unmasked — unmasked, sir! You led me to believe 
that you were as much shocked and pained at this girl’s 
venturing to write to you as I could be myself. You 
called it, quite correctly, ‘ forward and improper ; ’ you 
pretended you had never given her the least encourage- 
ment — had not heard her name even — till to-day. And 
here is a note, written, as I should imagine, some time 
since, in which you address her as ‘ Connie Davenant, ’ 
and have the impudence to admire the hat she wore the 
Sunday before ! I shudder, sir, to think of such duplicity, - 
such precocious and shameless depravity. It astounds 
me. It deprives me of all power to think ! ” 

Paul made some faint and inarticulate remark about 
being a family man — always most particular, and so forth; 
luckily it passed unheard. 

^ “ What shall I do with you ? ” continued the doctor ; 

“ bow shall I punish such monstrous misconduct ? ” 

“ Don’t ask me, sir,” said Paul, desperately — “ only, for 
heaven’s sake, get over it as soon as possible. ” 

“ If I linger, sir,” retorted the doctor, “ it is because I 


AGAINST TIME. 


175 


have grave doubts whether your offence can be expiated 
by a mere flogging — whether that is not altogether too 
light a retribution.” 

“ He can’t want to torture me,” thought Paul. 

“ Yes,” said the doctor again, “ the doubt has prevailed. 
On a mind so hardened the cane would leave no lasting 
impression. I can not allow your innocent companions to 
run the risk of contamination from your society. I must 
not permit this serpent to glide uncrushed, this cockatrice 
to practice his epistolary wiles, within my peaceful fold. 
My mind is made up — at whatever cost to myself — how- 
ever it may distress and grieve your good father, who is so 
pathetically anxious for you to do him credit, sir. I must 
do my duty to the parents of the boys intrusted to my care. 
I shall not flog you, sir, for I feel it would be useless. I 
shall expel you.” 

“ What ! ” Paul leaped up incredulous. “ Expel me ? 
Do I hear you aright, Dr. Grimstone ? Say it again — you 
will expel me ? ” 

“ I have said it, the doctor said, sternly; “ no expostu- 
lation can move me now ” (as if Mr. Bultitude was likely 
to expostulate !). “ Mrs. Grimstone will see that your 

boxes are packed the first thing to-morrow morning, and I 
shall take you myself to the station, and consign you to the 
home you have covered with blushes and shame, by the 
9.15 train, and I shall write a letter to-night explaining the 
causes for your dismissal.” 

Mr. Bultitude covered his face with his hands, to hide, 
not his shame and distress, but his indecent rapture. It 
seemed almost too good to be true ! He saw himself about 
to be provided with every means of reaching home in comfort 
and safety. He need dread no pursuit now. There was no 
chance, either, of his being forced to return to the prison- 
house ; the doctor’s letter would convince even Dick of the 
impossibility of that. And, best of all, this magnificent 
stroke of good" luck had been obtained without the ignominy 
and pain of a flogging, with even the unpleasant necessity 
of telling his strange secret. 

But (having gained some experience during his short stay 
at the school) he had the duplicity to pretend to sob bit- 
terly. 


176 


VICE VERSA. 


“ But one night more, sir,” continued the doctor, “ shall 
you pass beneath this roof, and that apart from your fel- 
lows. You will occupy the spare bedroom until the morn- 
ing, when you quit the school in disgrace — for ever.” 

. I said in another chapter that this Sunday would find 
Paul, at its close, after a trying course of emotions, in a 
state of delicious ecstasy of pure relief and happiness— 
and really that scarcely seems too strong an expression 
for his feelings. 

When he found himself locked securely into a comfort- 
able, warm bedroom, with curtains and a carpet in it, safe 
from the persecutions of all those terrible boys, and when 
he remembered that this was actually the last night of his 
stay here — that he would certainly see his own home before 
noon next day — the reaction was so powerful that he could 
not refrain from skipping and leaping about the room in a 
kind of hysterical gayety. 

And as he laid his head down on a yielding lavender- 
scented pillow, his thoughts went back without a pang to 
the varied events of the day ; they had been painful, very 
painful, but it was well worth while to have gone through 
them to appreciate fully the delightful intensity of the con- 
trast. He freely forgave all his tormentors, even Chaw- 
ner, for had not Chawner procured his release ? and he 
closed his eyes at last with a smile of Sybaritic satisfaction 
and gentle longing for the Monday’s dawn to break. 

And yet some, after his experiences, would have had 
their misgivings. 


CHAPTER Xni. 

A RESPITE. 

“ Discipularum inter jubeo plorare cathedras.” 

Blithe and gay was Mr. Bultitude when he opened his 
eyes on Monday morning and realized his incredible good 
fortune ; in a few hours he would be travelling safely and 
comfortably home, with every facility for regaining his 
rights. He chuckled — though his sense of humor was not 


A RESPITE. 


177 


large — he chuckled, as he lay snugly in bed, to think of 
Dick’s discomfiture on seeing him return so unexpectedly ; 
he began to put it down, quite unwarrantably, to his own 
cleverness, as having conceived and executed such a 
stroke of genius as procuring his own expulsion. 

He remained in bed until long after the getting-up bell 
had rung, feeling that his position insured him perfect im- 
punity in this, and when he rose at length it was in high 
spirits, and he dressed himself with a growing toleration 
for things in general, very unlike his ordinary frame of 
mind. When he had finished his toilet, the doctor entered 
the room. 

“ Bultitude,” he said, gravely, “ before sending you from 
us, I should like to hear from your own lips that you are 
not altogether without contrition for your conduct.” 

Mr. Bultitude considered that such an acknowledgment 
could not possibly do any harm, so he said — as indeed, he 
might with perfect truth — that “ he very much regretted 
what had passed.” 

“ I am glad to hear that,” said the doctor, more briskly, 
“ very glad ; it relieves me from a very painful responsi- 
bility. It may not impossibly induce me to take a more 
lenient view of your case.” 

“ Oh ! ” gasped Mr. Bultitude, feeling very uncomforta- 
ble all at once. 

“ Yes ; it is a serious step to ruin a boy’s career at it’s 
outset by unnecessary harshness. Nothing, of course, can 
palliate the extreme baseness of your behavior. Still, from 
certain faint indications in your character of nobler things, 
I do not despair even yet (after you have received a public 
lesson at my hands, which you will never forget) of rearing 
you to become in time an ornament to the society in 
which it will be your lot to move. I will not give up in 
despair — I will persevere a little longer.” 

“Thank you!” Paul faltered, with a sudden sinking 
sensation. 

“ Mrs. Grimstone, too,” said the doctor,” has been in- 
terceding for you ; she has represented to me that a pub- 
lic expression of my view of your conduct, together with a 
severe dose of physical pain, would be more likely to 
effect a radical improvement in your character, and to 
12, 


178 VICE VERSA. 

soften your perverted heart, than if I sent you away in 
hopeless disgrace, without, giving you an opportunity of 
showing a desire to amend.” 

“ It’s — very kind of Mrs. Grimstone,” said Paul, faintly, 

“ Then I hope you will show your appreciation of her 
kindness. Yes, I will not expel you. I will give you one 
more chance to retrieve your lost reputation. But, for 
your own sake, and as a public warning, I shall take no- 
tice of your offense in public. I shall visit it upon you by 
a sound flogging before the whole school at eleven o’clock. 
You need not come down till then ; your breakfast will be 
sent up to you.” 

Paul made a frantic attempt to dissuade him from his 
terrible determination. “ Dr. Grimstone,” he said, “ I — I 
should much prefer being expelled, if it is all the same to 
you.” 

“ It is not all the same to me,” said the doctor. “ This 
is mere pride and obstinacy, Bultitude ; I should do wrong 
to take any notice of it,” 

“ I — I tell you I have great objection to — to being 
flogged,” said Paul eagerly ; “ it wouldn’t improve me at 
all ; it would harden me, sir — harden me. I — I can not 
allow you to flog me, Dr. Grimstone. I have strong prej- 
udices against the system of corporal punishment. I ob- 
ject to it on principle. Expulsion would make me quite a 
different being, I assure you ; it would reform me — save 
me — it would indeed.” 

“ So, to escape a little personal inconvenience, you 
would be content to bring sorrow upon your worthy fa- 
ther’s gray head, would you, sir ? ” said the doctor ; “ I shall 
not oblige you in this. Nor, I may add, will your coward- 
ice induce me to spare you in your coming chastisement. 
I leave you, sir ; we shall meet again at eleven ! ” 

And he stalked out of the room. Perhaps, though he 
did not admit this even to himself, there were more con- 
siderations for commuting the sentence of expulsion than 
those he had mentioned. Boys are not often expelled 
from private schools, except for especially heinous offenses, 
and in this case there was no real reason why the doctor 
should be Quixotic enough to throw up a portion of his 


A RESPITE. 


179 


income — particularly if he could produce as great a moral 
effect by other means. 

But his clemency was too much for Mr. Bultitude ; he 
threw himself on the bed and raved at the hideous fate 
in store for him ; ten short minutes ago, and he had been 
so happy — so certain of release — and now, not only was 
he as far from all hope of escape as ever, but he had the 
certainty before him of a sound flogging in less than two 
hours ! 

Just after some has befallen us which, for good or ill, 
will make a great change in our lives, what a totally new 
aspect the common every-day things about us are apt to 
wear — the book we were reading, the letter we had begun, 
the picture we knew — what a new and tender attraction 
they may have for us, or what a grim and terrible irony ! 

Something of this Paul felt dimly, as he finished dress- 
ing, in a dazed, unconscious manner. The comfortable 
bedroom, with its delicately-toned wall-paper and flowery 
cretonnes, had become altogether hateful in his eyes now. 
Instead ot feeling grateful (as he surely ought to have 
been) for the one night of perfect security and comfort he 
had passed there, he only loathed it for the delusive peace 
it had brought him. 

There was a gentle tap at the door, and Dulcie came in, 
bearing a tray with his breakfast, and looking like a little 
royalist bearing food to a fugitive cavalier ; though Paul 
did not quite carry out his share of the simile. 

“ There ! ” she said, almost cheerfully, “ I got mamma 
to let me take up your breakfast ; and there’s an egg for 
you, and muffins.” 

Mr. Bultitude sat on a chair and groaned. 

“ You might say ‘ Thank you,’ said Dulcie, pouting. 
“ That other girl wouldn’t have brought you up much 
breakfast if she’d been in my place. I was going to tell 
you that I’d forgiven you, because very likely you never 
meant her to write to you ” (Dulcie had not been told the 
sequel to the Davenant episode, which was quite as well 
for Paul). “ But you don’t seem to care whether I do or 
not.” 

“ I feel so miserable ! ” sighed Paul. 

“ Then you must drink some coffee,” prescribed Dulcie, 


i8o 


VICE VERSA. 


decidedly ; “ and you must eat some breakfast. I brought 
an egg on purpose ; it’s so strengthening, you know.” 

“ Don’t ! ” cried Paul, with a short howl of distress at 
this suggestion. “ Don’t talk about the — the flogging ; I 
can’t bear it.” 

“ But it’s not papa’s new cane, you know, Dick,” said 
Dulcie, consolingly. “ I’ve hidden that ; it’s only the 
old one, and you always said that didn’t hurt so very 
much, after a little while. It isn’t as if it was the horse- 
whip, either. Papa lost that out riding in the holidays.” 

“ Oh, the horse-whip’s worse, is it ? ” said Paul, with a 
sickly smile. 

“ Tom says so,” said Dulcie. “ After all, Dick, it will 
be all over in five minutes, or, perhaps, a little longer, and 
I do think you oughtn’t to mind that so much, now, after 
mamma and I have begged you off from being expelled. 
We might never have seen one another again, Dick. 

“ You begged me off ! ” cried Paul. 

“ Yes,” said Dulcie ; “ papa wouldn’t change his mind 
for you ever so long — till I coaxed him. I couldn’t bear 
to let you go.” 

“You’ve done a very cruel thing,” said Paul. “For 
such a little girl as you are, you’ve done an immense 
amount of mischief. But for you, that letter would not 
have been found out. You need not have spoiled my only 
chance of getting out of this horrible place ! ” 

Dulcie set down the tray, and, putting her hands behind 
her, leaned against a corner of a wardrobe. 

“ And is that all you say to me ? ” she said, with a little 
tremble in her voice. 

“ That is all,” said Paul. “ I’ve no doubt you meant 
well, but you shouldn’t have interfered. All this has come 
upon me through that. Take away the breakfast. It 
makes me ill even to look at it.” 

Dulcie shook out her long brown hair, and clinched her 
pretty white fist in an undeniable passion, for she had 
something of her father’s hot temper when roused. “ Very 
well, then,” she said, moving with great dignity toward 
the door. “ I’m very sorry I ever did interfere. I wish 
I’d let you be sent home to your papa, and see what he’d 
do to you. But I’ll never, never interfere one bit with 


A RESPITE. 


181 


you again. I won’t say one single word to you any more. 
. . . I’ll never even look at you if you want me to ever so 
much. ... I shall tell Tipping he can hit you as much as 
ever he likes, and I shall show Tom where I put the new 
cane — and I only hope it will hurt ! ” 

And with this parting shout she was gone. 

Mr. Bultitude wandered disconsolately about the upper 
part of the house after this, not daring to go down, and 
not able to remain in any one place. The maids who 
came up to make the beds looked at him with pitiful inter- 
est, but he was too proud to implore help from them. To 
hide would only make matters worse, for, as he had not a 
penny in his pocket, and no probability of being able to 
borrow one, he must remain in the house till hunger forced 
him from his hiding-place — supposing they did not hunt 
him out long before that time. 

The shouts of the boys in the playground during their 
half-hour’s play had long since died away ; he heard the 
clock in the hall strike eleven — time for him to seek his 
awful rendezvous. The doctor had not forgotten him, he 
found, for presently the butler came up and ceremoniously 
announced that the doctor “ would see him now, if he 
pleased.” 

He stumbled down stairs in a half-unconscious condi- 
tion, the butler threw open the two doors which led to the 
schoolroom, and Paul tottered in, more dead than alive 
with shame and fear. 

The whole school were at their places, with no books 
before them, and arranged as if to hear a lecture. Mr. 
Blinkhorn alone was absent, for, not liking these exhibi- 
tions, he had taken an opportunity of slipping out into 
the playground, round which he was now solemnly trotting 
at the “ double ” with elbows squared and head up, an 
exercise which he said was an excellent thing for the back 
and lungs. He had a habit of suddenly leaving the class 
he was taking to indulge in it for a few minutes, returning 
breathless but refreshed. 

Mr. Tinkler was at his seat, wearing that faint grim on 
his face with which one prepares to see a pig killed or a 
bull-fight, and all the boys fixed their eyes expectantly on 
Mr. Bultitude as he appeared at the doorway. 


182 


VICE FEES A. 


“ Stand there, sir,” said the doctor, who was standing 
at his writing-table in an attitude ; out there in the mid- 
dle, where your schoolfellows can see you.” Paul obeyed, 
and stood where he was told, looking, as he felt, abso- 
lutely boneless. 

“ Some of those here,” began the doctor in an impres- 
sive bass, “ may wonder why 1 have called you all together 
on this, the first day of the week ; most of those who reside 
under my roof are acquainted with, and I trust execrate, 
the miserable cause of my doing so. 

“ If there is one virtue which I have striven to implant 
more than any other in your breasts,” he continued, “ it is 
the cultivation of a modest and becoming reserve in your 
intercourse with those of the opposite sex. 

“ With the majority I have, I hope,, been successful, and 
it is as painful for me to tell as for you to hear, that there 
exists in your midst a youthful reprobate, trained in all 
the arts of ensnaring the vagrant fancies of innocent but 
giddy girlhood. 

“ See him as he cowers there before your gaze, in all 
the bared hideousness of his moral depravity ” (the doc- 
tor, on occasions like these, never spared his best epithets, 
and Paul soon began to feel himself a very villain) ; “ a 
libertine, young in years, but old in — in everything else, 
who has not scrupled to indite an amatory note, so appall- 
ling in its familiarity, and so outrageous in the warmth of 
its sentiments, that I can not bring myself to shock your 
ears with its contents. 

“ You do well to shun him as a moral leper; but how 
shall I tell you that, not satisfied with pressing his effu- 
sions upon the shrinking object of his precocious affec- 
tions, the miserable being has availed himself of the shel- 
ter of a church to cloak his insidious advances, and even 
forces a response to them from a heedless and imprudent 
girl ! 

“ If,” continued the doctor, now allowing his powerful 
voice to boom to its full compass — “ if I can succeed in 
bringing this coward, this unmanly dallier in a sentiment 
which the healthy mind of boyhood rejects as premature, 
to a sense of his detestable conduct ; if I can score the 
lesson upon his flesh so that some faint notion of its force 


A RESPITE. 


'*3 

and purport may be conveyed to what has been supplied 
to him as a heart, then I shall not have lifted this hand in 
vain ! 

“ He shall see whether he will be allowed to trail the 
fair name of the school for propriety and correctness of 
deportment in the dust of a pew-floor, and spurn my repu- 
tation as a preceptor like a chuch hassock beneath his 
feet ! 

“ I shall say no more ; I will not prolong these stric- 
tures, deserved though they be, beyond their proper limits. 
... I shall now preceed to act. Richard Bultitude, re- 
main there till I return to mete out to you with no sparing 
hand the punishment you have so richly merited.” 

With these awful words the doctor left the room, leaving 
Paul in a state of abject horror and dread which need not 
be described. Never, never again would he joke, as he 
had been wont to do with Dick in lighter moods, on the 
subject of corporal punishment under any circumstances ; 
it was no fit theme for levity ; if this — this outrage were 
really done to him, he could never be able to hold up his 
head again. What if it were to get about in the city ! 

The boys, who had sunk, as they always did, into a state 
of torpid awe under the doctor’s eloquence, now recov- 
ered spirits enough to rally Paul with much sprightly 
humor. 

“ He’s gone to fetch his cane,” said some, and imitated 
for Paul’s instruction the action of caning by slapping a 
ruler upon a copy-book with a dreadful fidelity and reson- 
ance ; others sought to cross-examine him upon the love- 
letter, it appearing from their casual remarks that not a 
few had been also honored by communications from the 
artless Miss Davenant. 

It is astonishing how unfeeling even ordinary good- 
natured boys can be at times. 

Sludge sat at his desk with raised shoulders, rubbing his 
hands, and grinning like some malevolent ape. “ I told 
you, Dickie, you know,” he murmured, “ that it was better 
not to cross me.” 

And still the doctor lingered. Some kindly suggested 
that he was “ waxing the cane.” But the more general 
opinion was that he had been detained by some visitor ; 


184 


VICE VERSA. 


for it appeared that_ (though Paul had not noticed it) 
several had heard a ring at the bell. The suspense was 
growing more and more unbearable. 

At last the door opened in a slow, ominous manner, 
and the doctor appeared,. There was a visible change in 
his manner, however. The white heat of his indignation 
had died out ; his expression was grave but distinctly 
softened — and he had hothing in his hand. 

“I want you outside, Bultitude,” he said; and Paul, 
still uncertain whether the scene of his disgrace was only 
about to be shifted, or what else this might mean, fol- 
lowed him into the hall. 

“ If anything can strike shame and confusion into your 
soul, Richard,” said the doctor, when they were outside, 
it will be what I have to tell you now. Your unhappy 
father is here, in the dining-room.” 

Paul staggered. Had Dick the brazen effrontery to come 
here to taunt him in his slavery ? What was the 
meaning of it ? What should he say to him ? He could 
not answer the doctor but by a vacant stare. 

“ I have not seen him yet,” said the doctor. “ He has 
come at a most inopportune moment ” (here Mr. Bulti- 
tude could not agree with him.) “ I should allow you to 
meet him first, and give you the opportunity of breaking 
your conduct to him. I know how it will wring his 
paternal heart ! ” and the doctor shook his head sadly, 
and turned away. 

With a curious mixture of shame, anger and impatience, 
Paul turned the handle of the dining-room door. He was 
to meet Dick face to face once more. The final duel 
must be fought out between them here. Who would be 
the victor ? 

It was a strange sensation on entering to see the image 
of what he had so lately been standing by the mantel- 
piece. It gave a shock to his sense of his own identity. 
It seemed so impossible that that stout, substantial frame 
could really contain Dick. For an instant he was totally 
at a loss for words, and stood pale and speechless in the 
presence of his unprincipled son. 

Dick on his side seemed at least as much embarrassed. 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 185 

H e ~ giggled uneasily, and made a sheepish offer to shake 
hands, which was indignantly declined. 

As Paul looked he saw distinctly that his son’s fraudu- 
lent imitation of his father’s personal appearance had 
become deteriorated in many respects since that unhappy 
night when he had last seen it. It was then a copy, 
faultlessly accurate in every detail. It was now almost a 
caricature, a libel ! 

The complexion was nearly sallow, with the exception 
of the nose, which had rather deepened in color. The 
skin was loose and flabby, and the eyes dull and a little 
bloodshot. But perhaps the greatest alteration was in the 
dress. Dick wore an old light tweed shooting-coat of his, 
and a pair of loose trousers of blue serge ; while, instead 
of the formally tied black neckcloth his father had worn 
for a quarter of a century, he had a large scarf round his 
neck of some crude and gaudy color ; and the conventional 
chimney-pot hat had been discarded for a shabby old 
wide-brimmed felt wide-awake. 

Altogether, it was by no means the costume which a 
British merchant, with any self-respect whatever, would 
select, even for a country visit. 

And thus they met, as perhaps, never, since' this world 
was first set spinning down the ringing grooves of change, 
met father and son before ! 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 

“ The Survivorship of a worthy Man in his Son is a Pleasure scarce inferior to 
the Hopes of the Continuance of his own Life.” — Spectator. 

Du bist ein Knabe — sei es immerhin 
Und fahre fort, den Frohlichen zu spielen. 

Schiller, Don Carlos. 

Paul was the first to break a very awkward silence. 
“ You young scoundrel ! ” he said, with suppressed 
rage. “ What the devil do you mean by laughing like 
that ? It’s no laughing matter, let me tell you, sir, for one 
of us ! ” 


1 86 


VICE VERSA. 


“ I can’t help laughing,” said Dick ; “ you do look so 
queer ! ” 

“ Queer ! I may well look queer. I tell you that I 
have never, never in my whole life, spent such a perfectly 
infernal week as this last ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” observed Dick, “ I thought you wouldn’t find it 
#//jam! And yet you seemed to be enjoying yourself, 
too,” he said, with a grin, “ from that letter you wrote.” 

“ What made you come here ? Couldn’t you be con- 
tent with your miserable victory without coming down to 
crow and jeer at me ? ” 

“ It isn’t that,” said Dick. I — I thought I should like 
to see the fellows, and find out how you were getting on, 
you know.” These, however, were not his only and his 
principal motives. He had come down to get a sight 
of Dulcie. 

“ Well, sir,” said Mr. Bultitude, with ponderous sar- 
casm, “ you’ll be delighted to hear that I’m getting on un- 
commonly well — oh, uncommonly! Your high-spirited 
young friends batter me to sleep with slippers on most 
nights, and, as a % general thing, kick me about during the 
day like a confounded football ! And last night, sir, I 
was going to be expelled ; and this morning I’m forgiven 
and sentenced to be soundly flogged before the whole 
school ! It was just about to take place as you came in ; 
and I’ve every reason to believe it is merely postponed ! ” 

“ I say, though,” said Dick, “ you must have been 
going it, rather, you know. I’ve never been expelled. 
Has Chawner been sneaking again ? What have you 
been up to ? ” 

“ Nothing. I solemnly swear — nothing ! They’re find- 
ing out things you’ve done, and thrashing me” 

“ Well,” said Dick, soothingly, “ you’ll work them all 
off during the term, I daresay. There aren’t many really 
bad ones. I suppose he’s seen my name cut on his writ- 
ing-table ? ” 

“ No ; not that I’m aware of,” said Paul. 

“ Oh, he’d let you hear of it if he had ! ” said Dick. 
“ It’s good for a whacking, that is. But, after all, what’s 
a whacking ? I never cared for a whacking.” 

‘ But I do care, sir. I care very much, and, I tell you, 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 187 

I won’t stand it. I can’t ! Dick,” he said, abruptly, as a 
sudden hope seized him. “ You — you haven’t come down 
here to say you’re tired of your folly, have you ? Do you 
want to give it up ? ” 

“ Rather not,” said Dick. “ Why should I ? No 
school, no lessons, nothing to do but amuse myself, eat 
and drink what I like, and lots of money. It’s not likely, 
you know.” 

“ Have you ever thought that you’re bringing yourself 
within reach of the law, sir ? ” said Paul, trying to frighten 
him. “ Perhaps you don’t know that there’s an offense 
known as ‘ false personation with intent to defraud,’ and 
that it’s a felony. That’s what you’re doing at this mo- 
ment, sir ! ” 

“ Not any more than you are ! ” retorted Dick. “ I 
never began it. I had as much right to wish to be you as 
you had to wish to be me. You’re just what you said you 
wanted to be, so you can’t complain.” 

“ It’s useless to argue with you, I see,” said Paul. 
“ And you’ve no feelings. But I’ll warn you of one 
thing. Whether that is my body or not you’ve fraudulent- 
ly taken possession of, I don’t know ; if it is not, it is very 
like mine, and I tell you this about it. The sort of life 
you’re leading it, sir, will very soon make an end of you, 
if you don’t take care. Do you think that a constitution 
at my age can stand sweet wines and pastry, and late 
hours ? Why, you’ll be laid up with gout in another day 
or two. Don’t tell me, sir. I know you’re suffering from 
indigestion at this very minute. I can see your liver (it 
may be my liver for anything I know) is out of order. I 
can see it in your eyes.” 

Dick was a little alarmed at this, but he soon said : 
“ Well, and if I am seedy, I can get Barbara to take the 
stone and wish me all right again. Can’t I ? That’s easy 
enough, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh, easy enough ! ” said Paul, with a suppressed 
groan. “ But, Dick, you don’t go up to Mincing Lane in 
that suit and that hat ? Don’t tell me you do that ! ” 

“ When I do go up, I wear them,” said Dick, compos- 
edly. “Why not ? It’s a roomy suit, and I hate a great 
topper on my head ; I’ve had enough of that here on Sun 


i88 


VICE VERSA. 


days. But it’s slow up at your office. The chaps there 
aren’t half up to my larks. I made a first-rate booby-trap, 
though, one day for an old yellow buffer who came in to 
see you. He was in a bait when he found the waste-paper 
basket on his head ! ” 

“ What was his name ? ” said Paul, with forced calm. 

“ Something like ‘ Shells.’ He said he was a very old 
friend of mine, and I told him he lied.” 

“ Shellack — my Canton correspondent — a man I was 
anxious to be of use to when he came over ! ” moaned Mr. 
Bultitude. “ Miserable young cub, you don’t know what 
mischief you’ve done ! ” 

“ Well, it won’t matter much to you now,” said Dick ; 
“ you’re out of it all.” 

“ Do you — do you mean to keep me out of it for ever, 
then ? ” asked Paul. 

“ As long as ever I can ! ” returned Dick, frankly. “ It 
will be rather interesting to see what sort of a fellow you’ll 
grow into — if you ever do grow. Perhaps you will always 
be like that, you know. This magic is a rum thing to 
meddle with.” 

This suggestion almost maddened Paul. He made one 
stride forward, and faced his son with blazing eyes. “ Do 
you think I will put up with it ? ” he said, between his 
teeth. “ Do you suppose I shall stand calmly by and see 
you degrading and ruining me ? I may never be my old 
self again, but I don’t mean to play into your hands for 
all that. You can’t always keep me here, and wherever I 
go I’ll tell my tale. I know you, you clumsy rogue, you 
haven’t the sense to play your part with common intelli- 
gence now. You- would betray yourself directly I chal- 
lenged you to deny my story. . . . You know you would. 
. . . You couldn’t face me for five minutes. By Gad ! 
I’ll do it now. I’ll expose you before the doctor — before 
the whole school. You shall see if you can dispose of me 
quite so easily as you imagine ! ” 

Dick had started back, at first, in unmistakable alarm at 
this unexpected defiance, probably feeling his self-posses- 
sion unequal to such a test ; but, when Paul had finished, 
he said, doggedly ; “ Well, you can do it if you choose, I 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 189 

suppose. I can’t stop you. But I don’t see what good it 
would do.” 

“ It would show people you were an impudent imposter, 
sir,” said Paul, sternly, going to the door as if to call the 
doctor, though he shrank secretly from so extreme and 
dangerous a measure. 

There was a hesitation in his manner, in spite of the 
firmness of his words, which Dick was not likely to miss. 
“ Stop ! ” he said. “ Before you call them in, just listen 
to me for a minute. Do you see this ? ” And, opening his 
coat, he pulled out from his waistcoat-pocket one end of his 
watch-chain. Hanging to it, attached by a cheap, gilt fas- 
tening of some sort was a small grey tablet, Paul knew it 
at once — it was the Garuda Stone. “ You know it, I see,” 
said Dick, as Paul was about to move toward him — with 
what object he scarcely knew himself. “ Don’t trouble to 
come any closer. Well, I give you fair warning. You can 
make things very nasty for me if you like. I can’t help that ; 
but, if you do, if you try to score off me in- any way, now 
or at any time, if you don’t keep it up when the doctor 
comes in, I tell you what I shall do. I shall go straight 
home and find young Roly. I shall give him this stone, 
and just tell him to say some wish after me. I don’t 
believe there are many things it can’t do, and all I can say 
is, if you find yourself and all this jolly old school (except 
Dulcie) taken off somewhere and stuck down, all at once, 
thousands of miles away, on a desolate island, or see your- 
self turned into a red Indian, or — or a cab-horse, you’ll 
have yourself to thank for it, that’s all. Now you can have 
them all Up and fire away.” 

“ No,” said Paul, in a broken voice, for, wild as the 
threat was, he could not afford to despise it after his ex- 
perience of the stone’s power, “I — I was joking, Dick'; at 
least I didn’t mean it. I know, of course, I’m helpless. 
It’s a sad thing for a father to say, but you’ve got the best 
of it. . . . I give in. . . -. I won’t interfere with 
you. There’s only one thing I ask. You won’t try any 
more experiments with that miserable stone. . . . 

You’ll promise me that, at least? ” 

“ Yes said Dick ; “ it’s all right. I’ll play fair. As 
long as you behave yourself and back me up I won’t 


VICE VERSA. 


190 

touch it. I only want to stay as I am. I don’t want to 
hurt you.” 

“ You won’t lose it ? ” said Paul, anxiously. w Couldn’t 
you lock it up ? that fastening doesn’t look very safe.” 

“ It will do well enough,” said Dick. “I got it done 
at the watchmaker’s round the corner, for sixpence. But 
I’ll have a stronger ring put in somewhere if I think of 
it.” 

There was a pause, in which the conversation seemed 
about to flag hopelessly, but at last Dick said, almost as if 
he felt some compunction for his present unfilial attitude : 
“ Now, you know, it’s much better to take things quietly. 
It can’t be altered now, can it ? And it’s not such bad fun 
being a boy after all — for some things. You’ll get into it 
by- and by, you see if you don’t, and be as jolly as a sand- 
boy. We shall get ^along all right together, too. I shan’t 
be hard on you. It isn’t my fault that you happen to be 
at this particular school. You chose it! And after this 
term you can go to any other school you like — Eton or 
Rugby, or anywhere. I don’t mind the expense. Or, if 
you’d rather, you can have a private tutor. And I’ll buy 
you a pony, and you can ride in the Row. You shall have 
a much better time of it than I ever had, as long as you 
let me go on my own way.” 

But these dazzling bribes had no influence upon Mr. 
Bultitude ; nothing short of complete restitution would 
ever satisfy him, and he was too proud and too angry at* 
his crushing defeat to even pretend to be in the least 
pacified. 

“ I don’t want your pony,” he said, bitterly ; “ I might 
as well have a white elephant, and I dcn’t suppose I 
should enjoy myself much more at a public school than 
I do here. Let’s have no humbug, sir. You’re up and 
I’m down — there’s no more to be said — I shall tell the 
doctor nothing, but I warn you, if ever the time comes — ” 

“ Oh, of course,” said Dick, feeling tolerably secure, 
now he had disposed of the main difficulty. “ If you 
can turn me out, I suppose you will — that’s only fair. I 
shall take care not to give you the chance. And, oh, I 
say, do you want any tin? How much have you got 
left ? ” 


AN ERROR OR JUDO MEN T. 191 

Paul turned away his head, lest Dick should see the 
sudden exultation he knew it must betray, as he said, with 
an effort to appear unconcerned : “ I came away with ex- 
actly five shillings, and I haven’t a penny now ! ” 

“ I say,” said Dick, “ you are a fellow ; you must have 
been going it. How did you get rid of it all in a week ? ” 

“ It went, as far as I can understand,” said Mr. Bulti- 
tude, “ in rabbits and mice. Some boys claimed it as 
money they paid you to get them, I believe.” 

“ All your own fault,” said Dick, “ you would have 
them drowned. But you’d better have some tin to get 
along with. How much do you want ? Will half a crown 
do?” 

“ Half a crown is not much, Dick,” said his father, 
almost humbly. 

“ It’s — ahem — a handsome allowance for a young fellow 
like you,” said Dick, rather unkindly ; “ but I haven’t any 
half-crowns left. I must give you this, I suppose.” 

And he held out a sovereign, never dreaming what it 
signified to Paul, who clutched it with feelings too great 
for \vords, though gratitude was not a part of them, for 
was it not his own money ? 

“ And now look out,” said Dick ; “ I hear Grim. Re- 
member what I told you ; keep it up.” 

Dr. Grimstone came in with the air of a man who has 
a painful duty to perform ; he started slightly as his eye 
noted the change in. his visitor’s dress and appearance. 
“ I hope,” he began gravely, “ that your son has spared 
me the pain of going into the details of his misbehavior ; 
I wish I could give you a better report of him.” 

Dick was plainly, in spite of his altered circumstances, 
by no means at ease in the schoolmaster’s presence; he 
stood, shifting from foot to foot on the hearth-rug, turning 
extremely red and obstinately declining to raise his eyes 
from the ground. 

“ Oh, ah,” he stammered at last, “ you were just going 
to whack him, weren’t you, when I turned up, sir ? ” 

“ I found myself forced,” said the doctor, slightly 
shocked at this coarse way of putting things — “ forced to 
contemplate administering to him (for his ultimate benefit) 
a sharp corrective in the presence of his school-fellows. I 


192 


VICE VERSA. 


distress you, I see, but the truth must be told. He has 
no doubt confessed his fault to you ? ” 

“ No,” said Dick, “ he hasn’t, though. What’s he been 
up to now ? ” 

“ I had hoped he would have been more open, more 
straightforward, when confronted with the father who has 
proved himself so often indulgent and anxious for his im- 
provement ; it would have been a more favorable symp- 
tom, I think. Well, I must tell you myself. I know too 
well what a shock it will be to your scrupulously sensitive 
moral code, my dear Mr. Bultitude ’’(Dick showed a pain- 
ful inclination to giggle here) ; “ but I have to break to 
you the melancholy truth that I detected this unhappy boy 
in the act of conducting a secret and amorous correspon- 
dence with a young lady in a sacred edifice ! ” 

Dick whistled sharply. “ Oh, I say ! ” he cried, “ that’s 
bad ” (and he wagged his head reprovingly at his disgusted 
father, who longed to denounce his hypocrisy, but dared 
not) ; “ that’s bad ... he shouldn’t do that sort of thing, 
you know, should he ? At his age, too . . . the young 
dog ! ” 

“This horror is what I should have expected from you,” 
said the doctor (though he was in truth more than scan- 
dalized by the composure with which his announcement 
was received). “ Such boldness is indeed characteristic 
of the dog, an animal which, as you are aware, was with 
the ancients a synonym for shamelessness. No boy, how- 
ever abandaned, should hear such words of unequivocal 
condemnation from a father’s lips without a pang of 
shame ! ” 

Paul was only just able to control his rage by a great 
effort. 

“You’re right there, sir,” said Dick ! “he ought to be 
well ragged for it . . . he’ll break my heart, if he goes 
on like this, the young begger. But we mustn’t be too 
hard on him, eh ? After all, it’s nature, you know, isn’t 
it ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon ? ” said Dr. Grimstone, very 
stiffly. 

“ I mean,” explained Dick, with a perilous approach to 
digging the other in the ribs, “ we did much the same sort 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 193 

of thing in our time, eh ? I’m sure I did — lots of 
times ? ” 

“ I can’t reproach myself on that head, Mr. Bultitude ; 
and permit me to say, that such a tone of treating the 
affair is apt to destroy the effect, the excellent moral effect, 
of your most impressively conveyed indignation just now. 
I merely give you a hint, you understand ! ” 

“ Oh, eh,” said Dick, feeling that he had made a mis- 
take ; “ yes, I didn’t mean that. But, I say, you haven’t 
given him a — a whopping yet, have you ? ” 

“ I had just stepped out to procure a cane for that pur- 
pose,” said the doctor, “ when your name was an- 
nounced.” 

“ Well, look here, you won’t want to start again when 
I’m gone, will you ? ” 

“ An ancient philosopher, my dear sir, was accustomed 
to postpone the correction of his slaves until the first glow 
of his indignation had passed away. He found then that 
he could — ” 

“ Lay it on with more science,” suggested Dick, while 
Paul writhed where he stood. “ Perhaps so, but you 
might forgive him now, don’t you think ? he won’t do it 
again. If he goes writing any more love-letters, tell me, 
and I’ll come and talk to him ; but he’s had a lesson, you 
know. Let him off this time.” 

“ I have no right to resist such an entreaty,” said the 
doctor, “ though I may be inclined myself to think that 
a few strokes would render the lesson more permanent. I 
must ask you to reconsider your plea for his pardon.” 

Paul heard this with indescribable anxiety ; he had be- 
gun to feel tolerably sure that his evil hour was post- 
poned sine die, but might not Dick be cruel and selfish 
enough to remain neutral, or even side with the enemy, * 
in support of his assumed character ? 

Luckily he was not. “ I’d rather let him off,” he said 
awkwardly ; “ I don’t approve of caning fellows myself. 
It never did me any good, I know, and I got enough of it 
to tell.” 

“ Well, well, I yield. Richard, your father has in- 
terceded for you ; and I can not disregard his wishes, 
though I have my own view in the matter. You will hear 

13 


194 


VICE VERSA. 


no more of this disgraceful conduct, sir, unless you do 
something to recall it to my memory. Thank your father 
for his kindness, which you so little deserved, and take, 
your leave of him.” 

“ Oh, there, it’s all right ! ” said Dick ; “ he’ll behave 
himself after this, I know. And oh ! I say, sir, he added 
hastily, “ is — is Dulcie anywhere about ? ” 

“ My daughter ? ” asked the doctor. “ Would you like 
to see her ? ” 

M I shouldn’t mind,” said Dick, blushing furiously. 

I’m sorry to say she has gone out for a walk with her 
mother,” said the doctor. “ I’m afraid she can not be 
back for some time. It’s unfortunate.” 

Dick’s face fell. “ It doesn’t matter,” he muttered awk- 
wardly. “ She’s all right, I hope ? ” 

“ She is very seldom ailing, I’m happy to say ; just now 
she’s particularly well, thank you.” 

“ Oh is she ? ” said Dick, gloomily, probably disappoint- 
ed to find he was so little missed, and not suspecting that 
his father had been accepted as a substitute. 

“ Well do you mind — could I see the fellows again for a 
minute or two — I mean I should rather like to inspect the 
school you know.” 

“ See my boys ? Certainly, my dear sir, by all means ; 
this way,” and he took Dick out to the schoolroom, Paul 
following out of curiosity. “ You’ll find us at our studies, 
you see,” said the doctor, as he opened the first baize 
door. There was a suspicious hubbub and hum of voices 
from within ; but as they entered every boy was bent over 
his books with the wrapt absorption of the devoted stu- 
dent — an absorption that was the direct effect of the 
sound the door-handle made in turning. 

“ Our workshop,” said the doctor, airily, looking round. 
“ My first form, Mr. Bultitude. Some good workers here, 
and some idle ones.” 

Dick stood in the doorway, looking (if the truth must be 
told) uncommonly foolish. He had wanted, in coming 
there, to enjoy the contrast between the past and present — 
which accounts for a good many visits of “ old boys ” to the 
scene of their education. But, confronted with his former 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 195 

schoolfellows, he was seized at first with an utterly unrea- 
sonable fear of detection. 

The class behaved as classes usually do on such occa- 
sions. The good boys smirked and the bad ones stared, 
the general expression being one of uneasy curiosity. 
Dick said never a word, feeling strangely bashful and 
nervous. 

“ This is Tipping, my head boy,” touching that young 
gentleman on the shoulder, and making him several 
degrees more uncomfortable. “ I expect solid results 
from Tipping some day.” 

“ He looks as if his head was pretty solid,” said Dick, 
who had once cut his knuckles against it. 

“ My second boy, Biddlecomb. If he applies himself, 
he too will do me credit in the world.” 

“ How do, Biddlecomb ? ” said Dick. “ I owe you 
ninepence — I mean — oh hang it, here’s a shilling for you ! 
Hallo, Chawner ! ” he went on, gradually overcoming his 
first nervousness, “ how are you getting on, eh ? Doing 
much in the sneaking way lately ? ” 

“ You know him ? ” exclaimed the doctor, with naive 
surprise. 

“ No, no ; I don’t know him. I’ve heard of him, you 
know — heard of him ! ” Chawner looked down his nose 
with a feeble attempt at a gratified simper, while his 
neighbors giggled with furtive relish. 

“ Well,” said Dick at last, after a long look at all the 
old familiar objects, “ I must be off, you know. Got some 
important business at home this evening to look after. 
The fellows look very jolly and content, and all that sort 
of thing, Enough to make one want to be a boy again 
almost, eh ? Good-by, you chaps — ahem, young gentle- 
men, I wish you good-morning ! ” 

And he went out, leaving behind him the impression 
that “ young Bultitude’s governor wasn’t half such a bad 
old buffer.” 

He paused at the open front door, to which Paul and 
the doctor had accompanied him. “ Good-by,” he said ; 
“ I wish I’d seen Dulcie. I should like to see your 
daughter, sir ; but it can’t be helped. Good-by ; and you,” 
he added in a lower tone to his father, who was standing 


196 


VICE VERSA. 


by, inexpressibly pained and disgusted by his utter want 
of dignity, “ you mind what I told you. Don’t try any 
games with me ! ” 

And, as he skipped jauntily down the steps to the gate- 
way, the doctor followed his unwieldy, oddly dressed form 
with his eyes, and, inclining his head gravely to Dick’s 
sweeping wave of the hand, asked, with a compassionate 
tone in his voice, “ You don’t happen to know, Richard, 
my boy, if your father has had any business troubles late- 
ly— anything to disturb him ? ” 

And Mr. Bultitude’s feelings prevented him from making 
any intelligent reply. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE RUBICON. 

“ My three schoolfellows, 

Whom I will trust — as I will adders fanged : 

They bear the mandate.” 

Paul never quite knew how the remainder of that day 
passed at Crichton House. He was ordered to join a 
class which was more or less engaged with some kind of 
work ; he had a hazy idea that it was Latin, though it may 
have been Greek ; but he was spared the necessity of 
taking any active part in the proceedings, as Mr. Blinkhorn 
was not disposed to be too exacting with a boy who in one 
short morning had endured a sentence of expulsion, a lec- 
ture, the immediate prospect of a flogging, and a paternal 
visit, and as before, mercifully left him alone. 

His classmates, however, did not show the same chival- 
rous delicacy ; and Paul had to suffer many unmannerly 
jests and gibes at his expense, frequent and anxious in- 
quiries as to the exact nature of his treatment in the 
dining-room, with sundry highly imaginative versions of 
the same, while there was much candid and unbiased 
comment on the appearance and conduct of himself and 
his son. 

But he bore it unprotesting — or, rather, he scarcely 
noticed it : for all his thoughts were now entirely taken up 


THE RUBICON. 


197 


by one important subject — the time and manner of his 
escape. 

Thanks to Dick’s thoughtless liberality, he had now 
ample funds to carry him safely home. It was hardly 
likely that any more unexpected claims could be brought 
against him now, particularly as he had no intention of 
publishing his return to solvency. He might reasonably 
consider himself in a position to make his escape at the 
very first favorable opportunity. 

When would that opportunity present itself ? It must 
come soon. He could not wait long for it. Any hour 
might yet see him pounced upon and flogged heartily 
for some utterly unknown and unsuspected transgres- 
sion ; or the golden key which would unlock his prison 
bars might be lost in some unlucky moment ; for his 
long series of reverses had made him loth to trust to 
Fortune, even when she seemed to look smilingly once 
more upon him. 

Fortune’s countenance is apt to be so alarmingly 
mobile with some unfortunates. 

But in spite of the new facilities given him for escape, 
and his strong motives for taking advantage of them, he 
soon found, to his utter dismay, that he shrank from 
committing himself to so daring and dangerous a course, 
just as much as when he had tried to make a confidant 
of the doctor. 

For, after all, could he be sure of himself ? Would his 
ill-luck suffer him to seize the one propitious moment, 
or would that fatal self-distrust and doubt that had 
paralyzed him for the past week seize him again just 
at the crisis ? 

Suppose he did venture to take the first irrevocable 
step, could he rely on himself to go through the rest of 
his hazardous enterprize ? Was he cool and wary enough ? 
Fie dared not expect an uninterrupted run. Had he ruses 
and expedients at command on any sudden check ? 

If he could not answer all these doubts favorably, was 
it not sheer madness to take to flight at all ? 

He felt a dismal conviction that his success would 
have to depend, not on his own cunning, but on the for- 


VICE VERSA. 


198 

bearance or blindness of others. The slightest contre- 
temps must infallibly upset him altogether. 

The fact was, he had all his life been engaged in the 
less eventful and contentious branches of commerce. 
His will had seldom had to come in contact with others, 
and when it did so he had found means, being of a 
prudent and cautious temperament, of avoiding disagreable 
personal consequences by timely compromises or judicious 
employment of delegates. He had generally found his 
fellow-men ready to meet him reasonably as an equal 
or a superior. 

But now he must be prepared to see in every one he 
met a possible enemy, who would hand him over to the 
tyrant on the faintest suspicion. They were spies to be 
baffled or disarmed, pursuers to be eluded. The small- 
est slip in his account of himself would be enough to 
undo him. 

No wonder that, as he thought over all this, his heart 
quailed within him. 

They say — the paradox-mongers say — that it requires 
a far higher degree of moral courage for a soldier in 
action to leave the ranks under fire and seek a less distin- 
guished position toward the rear, than would carry him 
on with the rest to charge a battery. 

This may be true, though it might not prove a very 
valuable defence at a court-martial ; but, at all events, Mr. 
Bultitude found, when it came to the point, that it 
was almost impossible for him to screw up his courage to 
run away. 

It is not a pleasant state, this indecision whether to 
stay passively and risk the worst or avoid it by flight ; and 
the worst of it is that, whatever course is eventually forced 
upon us, it finds us equally unprepared, and more liable 
from such indecision to bungle miserably in the sequel. 

Paul might never have gained heart to venture, but for 
an unpleasant incident that took place during dinner, and 
a discovery he made after it. 

They happened to have a particularly unpopular pudding 
that day ; a pallid preparation of suet, with an infrequent 
currant or two embalmed in it, and Paul was staring at 
his portion of this delicacy disconsolately enough, won- 


THE RUBICON. 


199 


dering how he should contrive to consume and, worse still, 
digest it, when his attention was caught by Jolland, who 
sat directly opposite him. 

That young gentleman, who evidently shared the gen- 
eral dislike to the currant pudding, was inviting Mr. 
Bultitude’s attention to a little contrivance of his own for 
getting rid of it, which consisted in delicately shoveling 
the greater part of what was on his plate into a large en- 
velope held below the table to receive it. 

This struck Paul as a heaven-sent method of avoiding 
the difficulty, and he had just got the envelope which had 
held Barbara’s letter out of his pocket, intending to fol- 
low Jolland’s example, when the doctor’s voice made him 
start guiltily and replace the envelope in his pocket. 

“ Jolland,” said the doctor, “ what have you got there ? ” 

“An envelope, sir,” explained Jolland, who had now got 
the remains of his pudding safely bestowed. 

“ What is in that envelope ? ” said the doctor, who hap- 
pened to have been watching him. 

“In the envelope, sir? Pudding, sir,” said Jolland, as 
if it were the most natural thing in the world to send bulky 
portions of pudding by post. 

“ And why did you place pudding in the envelope ? ” 
inquired the doctor, in his deepest tone. 

Jolland felt a difficulty in explaining that he had done 
so because he wished to avoid eating it, and with a view 
to interring it later on in the playground ; he preferred 
silence, 

“ Shall I tell you why you did it, sir ? ” thundered the 
doctor. “ You did it because you were scheming to obtain 
a second portion — because you did not feel yourself able 
to eat both portions at your leisure here, and thought to 
put by a part to devour in secret at a future time. It’s 
a most painful exhibition of pure piggishhess. There 
shall be no pocketing at this table, sir. You will eat that 
pudding under my eye at once, and you will stay in and 
write out French verbs for two days. That will put an 
end to any more guzzling in the garden for a time, at least. 

Jolland seemed stupefied, though relieved, by the unex- 
pected construction put upon his conduct, as he gulped 
down the intercepted fragments of pudding, while the 


200 


VICE VERSA. 


rest diligently cleared their plates with as much of show 
of appreciation as they could muster. 

Mr. Bultitude shuddered at this one more narrow escape. 
If he had been detected — as he must have been in another 
instant — in smuggling pudding in an envelope, he might 
have incautiously betrayed his real motives, and then, as 
the doctor was morbidly sensitive as to all complaints of 
the fare he provided, he would have got into worse trouble 
than the unfortunate Jolland, to say nothing of the hu- 
miliation of being detected in such an act. 

It was a solemn warning to him of the dangers he 
was exposed to hourly, while he lingered within those 
walls ; but his position was still more strongly brought 
home to him by the terrible discovery he made shortly 
afterward. 

He was alone in the schoolroom, for the others had all 
gone down into the playground, except Jolland, who was 
confined in one of the class-rooms below, when the thought 
came over him to test the truth of Dick’s hint about a 
name cut on the doctor’s writing-table. 

He stole up to it guiltily, and, lifting the slanting desk 
which stood there, examined the surface below. Dick had 
been perfectly correct. There it was, glaring fresh and 
distinct, not large, but very deeply cut and fearfully leg- 
ible, “ R. Bultitude.” It might have been done that day. 
Dick had probably performed it out of bravado, or under 
the impression that he was not going to return after the 
holidays. 

Paul dropped the desk over the fatal letters with a 
shudder. The slightest accidental shifting of it must dis- 
close them — nothing but a miracle could have kept them 
concealed so long. When they did come to light, he knew, 
from what he had seen of the doctor, that the act would 
be considered as an outrage of the blackest and most des- 
perate kind. He would most unquestionably get a flog- 
ging for it ! 

He fetched a large pewter ink-pot, and tried nervously 
to blacken the letters with the tip of a quill, to make 
them, if possible, rather less obtrusive than they were. 
All in vain ; they only stood out with more startling vivid- 
ness when picked out in black upon the brown-stained 


THE RUBICON. 


201 


deal. He felt very like a conscience-stricken murderer 
trying to hide a corpse that wouldn't be buried. He gave 
it up at last, having only made a terrible mess with the 
ink. 

That settled it. He must fly. The flogging must be 
avoided at all hazards. If an opportunity delayed its 
coming, why, he must do without the opportunity — he 
must make one. For good or ill, his mind was made up 
now for immediate flight. 

All that afternoon, while he sat trying to keep his mind 
upon long sums in Bills of Parcels, which disgusted him 
as a business man, by the glaring improbability of their 
details, his eye wandered furtively down the long tables 
to where the doctor sat at the head of the class. Every 
chance movement of the principal’s elbow filled him with a 
sickening dread. A hundred times those rudely 
carved letters seem about to start forth and denounce 
him. 

It was a disquieting afternoon for Paul. 

But the time dragged wearily on, and still the desk 
loyally kept its secret. The dusk drew on and the gas- 
burners were lit. The younger boys came up from the 
lower class-room and were sent out to play ; the doctor 
shortly afterward dismissed his own class to follow them, 
and Paul and his companions had the room to them- 
selves. 

He sat there on the rough form with his slate before 
him, hearing, half unconsciously, the shouts, laughter, and 
ring of feet coming up from the darkness outside, and the 
faint notes of a piano, which filtered through the double 
doors from one of the rooms, where a boy was practicing 
Haydn’s “ Surprise,” from Hamilton’s exercise book — a 
surprise which he rendered as a mildly interjectional form 
of astonishment. 

All the time Paul was racked with an intense burning 
desire to get up and run for it then, before it became too 
late ; but cold fits of doubt and fear preserved him from 
such lunacy ; he would wait, his chance might come before 
long. 

His patience was rewarded ; the doctor came in, look- 
ing at his watch, and said : “ I think these boys have had 


202 


VICE VERSA 


enough of it, Mr. Tinkler, eh ? You can send them out 
now till tea-time.” 

Mr. Tinkler, who had been entangling himself fright- 
fully in intricate calculations upon the blackboard, without 
making a single convert, was only too glad to take advan- 
tage of the suggestion, and Paul followed the rest into the 
playground with a sense of relief. 

The usual “ chevy ” was going on there, with more 
spirit than usual, perhaps, because the darkness allowed 
of practical jokes and surprises, and offered great facili- 
ties for paying off old grudges with secrecy and dis- 
patch, and as the doctor had come to the door of the 
greenhouse, and was looking on, the players exerted 
themselves still more, till the prison to which most of 
one side had been consigned by being run down and 
touched by their fleeter enemies was filled with a long 
line of captives holding hands and calling out to be 
released. 

Paul, who had run out vaguely from his base, was 
promptly pursued and made prisoner by an unnecessarily 
vigorous thump in the back, after which he took his place 
at the bottom of the line of imprisoned ones. 

But the enemy’s spirit began to slacken ; one after 
another of the players still left to the opposite side 
succeeded in outrunning pursuit and touching the fore- 
most prisoner for the time being, so as to set him free 
by the rules of the game. The doctor went in again, 
and the enemy relapsed as usual into total indifference, so 
that Paul, without exactly knowing how, soon found him- 
self the only one left in goal, unnoticed and apparently 
forgotten. 

He could not see anything through the darkness, but he 
heard the voices of the boys disputing at the other side of 
the playground ; he looked round ; at his right was the 
indistinct form of a large laurel bush, behind that he knew 
was the playground gate. Could it be that his chance 
had come at last ? 

He slipped behind the laurel and waited, holding his 
breath ; the dispute still went on ; no one seemed to have 
noticed him, probably the darkness prevented all chance 


THE RUBICON. 


203 


of that; he went on tip-toe to the gate — it was not 
locked. 

He opened it very carefully a little way ; it was forbear- 
ing enough not to creak, the next moment he was outside, 
free to go where he would ! 

Escape, after all, was simple enough when he came to 
try it ; he could hardly believe at first that he really was 
free at last ; free with money enough in his pocket to take 
him home, with the friendly darkness to cover his retreat ; 
free to go back and confront Dick on his own ground, and, 
by force or fraud, get the Garuda Stone into his own 
hands once more. 

As yet he never doubted that it would be easy enough 
to convince his household, if necessary, of the truth of his 
story, and enlist them one and all on his side ; all that he 
required, he thought, was caution : he must reach the 
house unobserved, and wait and watch, and the deuce 
would be in it if the stone were not safe in his pocket 
again before twelve hours had gone by. 

All this time he was still within a hundred yards or so of 
the play-ground wall ; he must decide upon some particu- 
lar route, some definite method of ordering his flight ; to 
stay where he was any longer would clearly be unwise, yet, 
where should he go first ? 

If he went to the station at once, how could he tell that 
he should be lucky enough to catch a train without having 
to wait long for it, and unless he did that, he would almost 
certainly be sought for first on the station platform, and 
might be caught before a train was due. 

At last, with an acuteness he had not suspected himself 
of possessing, which was probably the result of the har- 
rowing experiences he had lately undergone, he hit upon a 
plan of action. “ I’ll go to a shop,” he thought, “ and 
change this sovereign, and ask to look at a time-table — 
then, if I find I can catch a train at once, I’ll run for it ; 
if one is not due for some time, I can hang about near the 
station till it comes in.” 

With this intention he walked on toward the town till 
he came to a small terrace of shops, when he went into 
the first, which was a stationer’s and toy-dealer’s with a 
stock in trade of cheap wooden toys and incomprehensi- 


204 


VICE VERSA. 


ble games, drawing slates, penny packets of stationery, 
and cards of pen and pencil-holders, and a particularly 
stuffy atmosphere ; the proprietor, a short man with a fat 
white face with a rich glaze all over it, and a fringe of rag- 
ged brown whisker meeting under his chin, was sitting be- 
hind the counter posting up his ledger. 

Paul looked round the shop in search of something to 
purchase, and at last said, more nervously than he ex- 
pected to do, “ I want a pencil-case — one which screws up 
and down.” He thought a pencil-case would be an inno- 
cent, unsuspicious thing to ask for. The man set rows of 
cards containing pencil-cases of every imaginable shape 
on the counter before him, and, when Mr. Bultitude had 
chosen one, the stationer asked if there would be anything 
else, and if he might send it for him. “ You’re one of Dr. 
Grimstone’s young gentlemen up at Crichton House aren’t 
you, sir ? ” he added. 

A guilty dread of discovery made Paul anxious to deny 
this at once. “ No,” he said ; “oh, no ; no connection 
with the place. Ah, could you allow me to look at a time- 
table ? ” 

“ Certainly, sir ; expectin’ some one to-night or to-mor- 
row p’raps. Let me see,” he said, consulting a table 
which hung behind him. “ There’s a train from Pancras 
comes in in half an hour from now, 6.05 that is ; there’s 
another doo at 8.15, and one at 9.30. Then from Liver- 
pool street they run — ” 

“ Thank you,” said Mr. Bultitude, “ but — but I want 
the up-trains.” 

“ Ah,” said the man, with a rather peculiar intonation, 
“ I thought maybe your par or your mar was coming 
down. Ain’t Dr. Grimstone got the times the trains go ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Paul, desperately, without very well know- 
ing what he said, “ yes, he has, but, ah, not for this month ; 
he — he sent me to inquire.” 

“ Did he though ? ” said the stationer. “ I thought you 
wasn’t one of his young gentlemen ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude saw what a fearful trap he had fallen into, 
and stood speechless. 

“ Go along with you ! ” said the little stationer at last, 
with a not unkindly grin. “ Lor’ bless you, I knew your 


I 


THE RUBICON. 


205 


face the minnit you come in. To go and tell me a brazen 
story like that ! You’re a young pickle, you are ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude began to shuffle feebly toward the door. 
“ Pickle, eh ? ” he protested, in great discomposure. “ No, 
no. Heaven knows I’m no pickle. It’s of no conse- 
quence about those trains. Don’t trouble. Good-evening 
to you.” 

“ Stop,” said the man ; “ don’t be in such a hurry now. 
You tell me what you want to know straightforward, and 
I don’t mean to say as I won’t help you so far as I can. 
Don’t be afraid of my telling no tales. I’ve bin a school- 
boy myself in my time, bless your ’art. I shouldn’t won- 
der now if I couldn’t make a pretty good guess without 
telling at what you’re after. You’ve been a catching of it 
hot, and you want to make a clean bolt of it. I ain’t very 
far off, now, ami?” 

“ No,” said Paul ; for something in the man’s manner 
inspired confidence. “ I do want to make a bolt of it. 
I’ve been most abominably treated.” 

“ Well, look here, I ain’t got no right to interfere ; and, 
if you’re caught, I look to you not to bring my name in. 
I don’t want to get into trouble up at Crichton House and 
lose good customers, you see. But I like the looks of 
you, and you’ve always dealt ’ere pretty regular. I don’t 
mind if I give you a lift. Just see here. You want to 
get off to London, don’t you ? What for is your business, 
not mine. Well, there’s a train, express, stops at only 
one station on the way, in at 5.50. It’s twenty minutes to 
six now. If you take that road just opposite, it’ll bring 
you out at the end of the Station Road ; you can do it 
easy in ten minnits and have time to spare. So cut away, 
and good luck to you ! ” 

“ I’m vastly obliged to you,” said Paul, and he meant it. 
It was a new experience to find any one offering him as- 
sistance. He left the close little shop, crossed the road, 
and started off in the direction indicated to him at a brisk 
trot. 

His steps rang out cheerfully on the path iron-bound 
with frost. He was almost happy again under the exhil- 
arating glow of unusual exercise and the excitement of 
escape and regained freedom. 


206 


VICE VERSA. 


He ran on, past a series of villa residences inclosed in 
varnished palings and adorned with that mediaeval abund- 
ance of turrets, balconies, and cheap stained-glass, which 
is accepted nowadays as a guarantee of the tenant’s cul- 
ture, and a satisfactory substitute for effective drainage. 
After the villas came a church, and a few yards further 
on the road turned with a sharp curve into the main thor- 
oughfare leading to the station. 

He was so near it that he could hear the shrill engine 
whistles, and the banging of trucks on the railway sidings 
echoed sharply from the neighboring houses. He was 
saved, in sight of haven at last ! 

Full of delight at the thought, he put on a still greater 
pace, and, turning the corner without looking, ran into a 
little party of three, which was coming in the opposite 
direction. 

Fate’s vein of irony was by no means worked out yet. 
As he was recovering from the collision, and preparing to 
offer or accept an apology, as the case might be, he dis- 
covered to his horror that he had fallen among no 
strangers. 

The three were his old acquaintances, Coker, Coggs, 
and the virtuous Chawner — of whom he had fondly hoped 
to have seen the last for ever ! 

The moral and physical shock of such an encounter 
took all Mr. Bultitude’s remaining breath away. He 
stood panting under the sickly rays of a street-lamp, the 
very incarnation of helpless, hopeless dismay. 

“ Hallo ! ” said Coker, “ It’s young Bultitude ! ” 

“ What do you mean by cannoning into a fellow like 
this ? ” said Coggs. “ What are you up to out here, eh ? ” 

“ If it comes to that,” said Paul, casting about for some 
explanation of his appearance, “what are you up to 
here ? ” 

“ Why, ” said Chawner, “ if you want to know, Dick, 
we’ve been to fetch the ‘ St. James’s Gazette ’ for the doc- 
tor. He said I might go if I liked, and I asked for Coker 
and Coggs to come too, because there was something I 
wanted to tell them, very important, and I have told them, 
haven’t I, Corny ? ” 

Coggs growled sulkily ; Coker gave a tragic groan, and 


THE RUBICON. 


207 


said : “ I don’t care when you tell, Chawner. Do it to- 
night, if you like. Let’s talk about something else. Bul- 
titude hasn’t told us yet how he came out here after us ? ” 

His last words suggested a pretext to Paul, of which he 
hastened to make use. “ Oh,” he said, “ I ? I came out 
here, after you, to say that Dr. Grimstone will not require 
the ‘ St. James’s Gazette.’ He wants the ‘ Globe ’ and, ah, 
the ‘ Echo,’ instead.” 

It did not sound a very probable combination ; but 
Paul used the first names that occurred to him, and, as it 
happened, aroused no suspicions, for the boys read no 
newspapers. 

“ Well, we’ve got the other now,” said Coker. “ We 
shall have to go back and get the fellow at the bookstall 
to change it, I suppose. Come on, you fellows ! ” 

This was at least a move in the right direction ; for the 
three began at once to retrace their steps. But, unfortun- 
ately, all these explanations had taken time, and, before 
they had gone many yards, Mr. Bultitude was horrified to 
hear the station bell ring loudly, and immediately after a 
cloud of white steam rose above the station roof as the 
London train clanked cumbrously in, and was brought to 
with a prolonged screeching of brakes. 

The others were walking very slowly. At the present 
pace it would be almost impossible to reach the train in 
time. He looked round at them anxiously. “ H-hadn’t 
we better run, don’t you think ? ” he asked. 

“ Run ! ” said Coker, scornfully. “ What for ? I’m not 
going to run. You can, if you like.” 

“ Why, ah, really,” said Paul, briskly, very grateful for 
the permission ; “ do you know, I think I will ! ” 

And run he did, with all his might, rushing headlong 
through the gates, threading his way between the omni- 
buses and under the Roman noses ot the mild fly-horses 
in the inclosure, until at length he found himself inside the 
little booking-office. 

He was not too late ; the train was still at the platform, 
the engine getting up steam with a dull roar. But he 
dared not risk detection by travelling without a ticket. 
There was time for that, too. No one was at the pigeon- 
hole but one old lady. 


208 


VICE VERSA. 


But, unhappily, the old lady considered taking a ticket 
as a solemn rite to be performed with all due caution and 
deliberation. She had already catechised the clerk upon 
the number of stoppages during her proposed journey, 
and exacted earnest assurances from him that she would 
not be called upon to change anywhere in the course of 
it ; and as Paul came up she was laying out the purchase- 
money for her ticket upon the ledge and counting it, which, 
the fare being high and the coins mostly half-pence, 
seemed likely to take some time. 

“ One moment, ma’am, if you please,” cried Mr. Bulti- 
tude, panting and desperate. “ I’m pressed for time.” 

“ Now you’ve gone and put me out, little boy,” said the 
old lady, fussily. “ I shall have to begin all over again. 
Young man, will you take and count the other end and 
see if it adds up right ? There’s a half-penny wrong 
somewhere ; I know there is.” 

“ Now, then,” shouted the guard from the platform. 
“ Any more going on ? ” 

“ I’m going on ! ” said Paul. “ Wait for me. First 
single to St. Pancras, quick ! ” 

“ Drat the boy ! ” said the old lady, angrily. “ Do you 
think the world’s to give way for you ! Such impudence ! 
Mind your manners, little boy, can’t you ? You’ve made 
me drop a threepenny-bit with your scrouging ! ” 

“ First single, five shillings,” said the clerk, jerking out 
the precious ticket. 

“ Right ! ” cried the guard at the same instant. “ Stand 
back there, will you ? ” 

Paul dashed toward the door of the booking-office which 
led to the platform ; but just as he reached it a gate 
slammed in his face with a sharp click. Through the bars 
of it he saw, with hot eyes, the tall, heavy carriages which 
had shelter and safety in them jolt heavily past, till even 
the red lamp in the last van was quenched in the dark- 
ness. 

That miserable old woman had shattered his hopes at 
the very moment of their fulfillment. It was fate again ! 

As he stood, fiercely gripping the bars of the gate, he 
heard Cogg’s hateful voice again. 


HARD PRESSED. 


209 


“ Hallo ! so you haven’t got the ‘ Globe ’ and the other 
thing after all, then ; “ they’ve shut you out ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Bultitude, in a hollow voice ; “ they’ve 
shut me out ! ” 


CHAPTER XYI. 

HARD PRESSED. 

“ Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 
How he outruns the wind, and with what care 
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles : 

The many musets through the which he goes 
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.” 

As soon as the gate was opened Paul went through 
mechanically with the others on to the platform, and 
waited at the bookstall while they changed the paper. 
He knew well enough that what had seemed at the time a 
stroke of transcendental cunning would now only land 
him in fresh difficulties, if, indeed, it did not lead to the 
detection of his scheme. But he dared not interfere and 
prevent them from making the unlucky exchange. Some- 
thing seemed to tie his tongue, and in sullen, leaden 
apathy he resigned himself to whatever might be in store 
for him. 

They passed out again by the booking-office. There 
was the old lady still at the pigeon-hole, trying to persuade 
the much-enduring clerk to restore a lucky sixpence she 
had given him by mistake, and was quite unable to 
describe. Mr. Bultitude would have given much just then 
to go up and shake her into hysterics, or curse her bitterly 
for the mischief she had done ; but he refrained, either 
from an innate chivalry, or from a feeling that such an 
outburst would be ill-judged. 

So, silent and miserable, with slow step and hanging 
head, he set out with his jailers to render himself up once 
more at his house of bondage — a sort of involuntary 
Regulus, without the oath. 

“ Dickie, you were very anxious to run just now,” ob- 
served Chawner, after they had gone some distance on 
their homeward way. 

14 


210 


VICE VERSA. 


e< We were late for tea — late for tea,” explained Paul, 
hastily. 

“ If you think the tea worth racing like that for, I 
don’t,” said Coggs, viciously ; “ it’s muck.” 

“ You don’t catch me racing, except for something 
worth having,” said Coker. 

One more flash of distinct inspiration came to Paul’s 
aid in the very depths of his gloom. It was, in fact, a 
hazy recollection from English history of the ruse by 
which Edward I, when a prince, contrived to escape from 
his captors at Dover Castle. 

“ Why — why,” he said, excitedly, “ would you race if 
you had something worth racing for, hey ? would you 
now ? ” 

“ Try us ! ” said Coker, emphatically. 

“ What do you call ‘ something ’ ? ” inquired Chawner, 
suspiciously. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Bultitude, “ what do you say to a 
shilling ? ” 

“ You haven’t got a shilling,” objected Coggs. 

“ Here’s a shilling, see,” said Paul, producing one. 

“ Now, then, I’ll give this to any boy I see get into tea 
first ! ” 

“ Bultitude thinks he can run,” said Coker, with an 
amiable unbelief in any disinterestedness. “ He means to 
get in first and keep the shilling himself, I know.” 

“ I’ll back myself to run him any day,” put in Coggs. 

“ So will I,” added Chawner. 

“ Well, is it agreed ? ” Paul asked, anxiously. Will you 
try ? ” 

“ All right,” said Chawner. “ You must give us a start 
to the next lamp-post, though. You stay here, and when 
we’re ready we’ll say * off ’ ! ” 

They drew a line on the path with their feet to mark 
Paul’s starting-point, and went on to the next lamp. 
After a moment or two of anxious waiting he heard Coggs 
shout, all in one breath, “ One-two-three-off ! ” and the 
sound of scampering feet followed immediately. 

It was a most exciting and hotly contested race. 
Paul saw them for one brief moment in the lamplight. 
He saw Chawner scudding down the path like some great 


HARD PRESSED. 


21 I 


camel, and Coker squaring his arms and working them as 
if they were wings. Coggs seemed to be last. 

He ran a little way himself just to encourage them, 
but, as the sound of their feet grew fainter and fainter, he 
felt that his last desperate ruse had taken effect, and, with 
a chuckle at his own cleverness, turned round and ran his 
fastest in the opposite direction. He felt little or no inter- 
est in the result of the race. 

Once more he entered the booking-office, and, kneeling 
on a chair, consulted the time-board that hung on the wall 
over the sheaf of texts and the missionary box. 

The next train was not until 7.25. A whole hour and 
twenty-five minutes to wait ! What was he to. do ? Where 
was he to pass the weary time till then ? If he lingered 
on the platform he would assuredly be recaptured. His 
absence could not remain long undiscovered ; and the 
station would be the first place they would search for him. 

And yet he dared not wander away from the neighbor- 
hood of the station. If he kept to the shops and lighted 
thoroughfares he might be recognized or traced. If, on 
the other hand, he went out farther into the country 
(which was utterly unknown to him) he had no watch, and 
it would be only too easy to lose his way, or miscalculate 
time and distance in the darkness. 

To miss the next train would be absolutely fatal. 

He walked out upon the platform, and on past the re- 
freshment and waiting-rooms, past the weighing machine, 
the stacked trunks and the lamp-room, meeting and seen 
by none ; even the boy at the bookstall was busy with 
bread and butter and a mug of tea in a dark corner, and 
never noticed him. 

He went on to the end of the platform, where the planks 
sloped gently down to a wilderness of sheds, coaling stages, 
and sidings ; he could just make out the bulky forms of 
some tarpaulined cattle-vans and open coal-trucks standing 
on the lines of metals which gleamed in the scanty 
gaslights. 

It struck him that one of these vans or trucks would 
serve his purpose admirably, if he could only get into it, 
and very cautiously he picked his way over the clogging 


212 


VICE VERSA . 


ballast and rails, till he came to a low, narrow strip of plat- 
form between two sidings. 

He mounted it, and went on till he came to the line of 
trucks and vans drawn up alongside ; the vans seemed all 
locked, but at the end he found an empty coal-wagon in 
which he thought he could manage to conceal himself and 
escape pursuit till the longed-for 7.25 train should arrive 
to relieve him. 

He stepped in and laid down in one corner of it, listen- 
ing anxiously for any sound of search, but, hearing noth- 
ing more than the dismal dirge of the telegraph-wires over- 
head, he soon grew cold and stiff, for his enforced attitude 
was far from comfortable, and there was more coal-dust in 
his chosen retreat than he could have wished. Still it was 
secluded enough ; it was not likely that it would occur to 
any one to look for him there. Ten days ago Mr. Paul 
Bultitude would have found it hard to conceive himself ly- 
ing down in a hard and grimy coal-truck to escape his son’s 
schoolmaster, but since then he had gone through too much 
that was unprecedented and abnormal to see much incon- 
gruity in his situation ; it was all too hideously real to be a 
night-mare. 

But even here he was not allowed to remain undisturbed, 
after about half an hour, when he was beginning to feel al- 
most secure, there came a sharp twanging of wires beneath, 
and two short strokes of a bell in the signal-box hard by. 

He heard some one from the platform, probaly the station- 
master, shout : “ Look alive, there, Ing, Pickstones, some 
of you. There’s those three trucks on the A siding to go 
on to Slopsbury by the 6.30 luggage ; she’ll be in in another 
five minutes.” 

There were steps as if some persons were coming out of 
a cabin opposite ; they came nearer and nearer. “ These 
three, ain’t it, Tommy ? ” said a gruff voice close to Paul’s 
ear. 

“ That’s it, mate,” said another, evidently Tommy’s ; 
“ get ’ em along up to the points there. Can’t have the 
6.30 standing about on this ’ere line all night ’cos of the 
Limited. Now, then, all together, shove ! they’ve got the 
old ’orse on at the other end.” 

And, to Paul’s alarm, he felt the truck in which he was 


HARD PRESSED. 


213 


begin to move ponderously on the greasy metals, and strike 
the next with its buffers with a jarring shock and a jangling 
of coupling chains. 

He could not stand this : unless he revealed himself at 
once, or managed to get out of this delusive wagon, the 
six-whatever-it-was train would be up and carry him off to 
Slopsbury, a hundred miles or so farther from home ; they 
would have time to warn Dick — he would be expected — 
ambushes lain for him, and his one chance would be gone 
for ever! 

There was a whistle far away on the down line, and that 
humming vibration which announces an approaching train : 
not a moment to lose — he was afraid to attempt a leap from 
the moving wagons, and resolved to risk all and show him- 
self. 

With this intention he got upon his knees, and, putting his 
head above the dirty bulwark, looked over and said, softly : 
“ Tommy, I say, Tommy ! ” 

A porter, who had been laboriously employed below, 
looked up with a white and scared face, and staggered back 
several feet. Mr. Bultitude, in a sudden panic, ducked 
again. 

“ Bill ! ” Paul heard the porter say, hoarsely, “ I’ll take 
my bible oath I’ve never touched a drop this week, not to 
speak of — but I’ve got ’em again, Bill, I’ve got ’em again ! ” 

“ Got what agin ? ” growled Bill. “ What’s the matter 
now ? ” 

“ It’s the jumps, Bill,” gasped the other, “ the ’orrors — 
they’ve got me, and no mistake. As I’m a livin’ man, as 
I was a shovin’ of that there truck I saw a imp — a gashly 
imp, Bill, stick its hugly ’ed over the side and say, 4 Tom- 
my,’ it ses, jest like that — it ses, ‘ Tommy, I, wants you ! ’ 
I dursn’t go near it, Bill. I’ll get leave, and go ’ome and 
lay up — it glared at me so ’orrid, Bill, and grinned — ugh ! 
I’ll take the pledge after this ’ere, I will — Til go to chapel 
Sundays reg’lar ! ” 

“ Let’s see if there ain’t something there first,” said the 
practical Bill. “ Easy with the oss up there. Now then,” 
here he stepped on the box of the wheel and looked in. 
“ Shin out of this, whatever y’are, we don’t contrack to 
carry no imps on this line — well if ever I — Tommy, old 


214 


VICE VERSA. 


man, it’s all right, y’aint got ’em this time — ’ere’s yer 
imp ! ” 

And, reaching over, he hauled out the wretched Paul by 
the s Gruff of his neck in a state of utter collapse, and 
deposited him on the ground before him. 

“ That ain’t your private kerridge, yer know, that ain’t ; 
there wasn’t no bed made up there for you, that I know 
on. You ain’t arter no good, now ; you’re a wagabone ! 
that’s about your size, I can see ; what d’yer mean by it, 
eh ? ” 

“ Shet yer ’ed, Bill, will yer,” said Tommy, whose relief 
probably softened his temper ; “ this here’s a young gent.” 

“ Young gent, or no young gent,” replied Bill, senten- 
tiously, “ he’s no call to go ’idin’ in our waggins and givin’ 
’ard-workin’ men a turn. Old ’im tight, Tommy — here’s 
the luggage down on us.” 

Tommy held him fast with a grip of iron, while the 
other porters coupled the trucks, and the luggage train 
lumbered away with its load. 

After this the men slouched up and stood round their 
captive, staring at him curiously. 

“ Look here, my men,” said Paul, “ I’ve run away from 
school : I want to go on to town by the next train, and I 
took the liberty of hiding in the truck, because the school- 
master will be up here very soon to look for me — you 
understand ? ” 

“ I understand,” said Bill, and a nice young party you 
are.” 

“ I — I don’t want to be caught,” said Paul. 

“ Naterally,” assented Tommy, sympathetically. 

“ Well, can’t you hide me somewhere w'here he won’t 
see me ? Come, you can do that ? ” 

“ What do you say, Bill ? ” asked Tommy. 

“ What’ll the guv’nor say ; ” said Bill, dubiously. 

“ I’ve got a little money,” urged Paul. “ I’ll make it 
worth your while.” 

“ Why didn’t you say that afore ? ” said Bill ; the guv’- 
nor needn’t know.” 

“ Here’s half a sovereign between you,” said Paul, 
holding it out. 

“ That’s something like a imp,” said Tommy, warmly ; 


HARD PRESSED. 


2iS 

“ if all the bogeys acted as ’andsome as this ’ere, I don’t 
care how often they shows theirselves. We’ll have a sup- 
per on this, mates, and drink young Delirium Trimminses’ 
jolly good ’ealth. You come along o’ me, young shaver; 
I’ll stow you away right enough, and let you out when 
your train comes in.” 

He led Paul on to the platform again and opened a 
sort of cupboard or closet. “ That’s where we keeps the 
brooms and lamp-rags, and them,” he said ; “ it ain’t what 
you may call tidy, but if I lock you in no one won’t trouble 
you.” 

It was perfectly dark, and the rags smelt unpleasantly, 
but Mr. Bultitude was very glad v of this second ark of 
refuge, even though he did bruise his legs over the broom- 
handles ; he was gladder still by and by, when he heard 
a rapid, heavy footfall outside, and a voice he knew 
only too well, saying : “ I want to see the station-master. 
Ha, there he is. Good-evening, station-master, you know 
me — Dr. Grimstone, of Crichton House. I want you 
to assist me in a very unpleasant affair — the fact is, one 
of my pupils has had the folly and wickedness to run 
away.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” said the station-master. 

“ It’s only too true, I’m sorry to say ; he seemed happy 
and contented enough, too ; it’s a black, ungrateful busi- 
ness. But I must catch him, you know ; he must be about 
here somewhere, I feel sure. You don’t happen to have 
noticed a boy who looked as if he belonged to me ? They 
can’t tell me at the booking-office.” 

How glad Paul was now he had made no inquiries of 
the station-master. 

“ No,” said the latter, “ I can’t say I have, sir, but 
some of my men may have come across him. I’ll inquire 
— here, Ing, I want you ; this gentleman has lost one of 
his boys ; have you seen him ? ” 

“ What sort of a young gentleman was he to look at ? ” 
Paul heard Tommy’s voice ask. 

“ A bright, intelligent-looking boy,” said the doctor ; 
“ medium height, about thirteen, with auburn hair.” 

“No, I ain’t seen no intelligent boys with median 
’eight,” said Tommy, slowly, “ not, leastways, to speak to 


2l6 


VICE VERSA . 


positive. What might he ’ave on, now, besides his ’oburn 
’air ? ” 

“ Black cloth jacket, with a wide collar,” was the 
answer ; “ gray trousers, and a cloth cap with a leather 
peak.” 

“ Oh,” said Tommy, “ then I see ’im.” 

“ When — where ? ” 

“ Bout arf an ’our since.” 

“ Do you know where he is now ? ” 

“ Well,” said Tommy, to Paul’s intense horror, for he 
was listening, quaking, to every word of this conversation, 
which was held just outside his cupboard door. “ I dessay 
I could give a guess if I give my mind to it.” 

“ Out with it, Ing, now, if you know ; no tricks,” said 
the station-master, who had apparently just turned to go 
away. “ Excuse me, sir, but I’ve some things in there to 
see after.” 

When he had gone, the doctor said, rather heatedly : 
“ Come, your’e keeping something from me ; I will have 
it out of you. If I find you have deceived me, I’ll write 
to the manager and get you sent about your business ; 
you’d better tell me the truth.” 

“You see,” said Tommy, very slowly and reluctantly, 
“ that young gent o’ yourn was a gent.” 

“ I tried my very best to render him so,” said the doc- 
tor, stiffly ; “ here is the result — how did you discover he 
was one, pray ? ” 

“ ’Cos he acted like a gent,” said Tommy ; “ he took 
and give me a ’arf-suffering.” 

“ Well, I’ll give you another,” said the doctor, “ if you 
can tell me where he is.” 

“ Thankee, sir, don’t you be afraid ; you’re a gent right 
enough, too, though you do ’appen to be a school- 
master.” 

“ Where is the unhappy boy ? ” interrupted the doctor. 

“ Seems as if I was a roundin’ on ’im, like, don’t it, 
a’most, sir ? ” said Tommy, with too evident symptoms of 
yielding in his voice. Paul shook so in his terror that he 
knocked down a broom or too with a clatter, which froze 
his blood. 

“ Not at all,” said the doctor, “ not at all, my good 


HARD PRESSED. 


217 


fellow ; you’re — ahem — advancing the cause of moral 
order.” 

“ Oh, ah,” said Tommy, obviously open to conviction. 
“ Well, if I’m a doin’ all that, I can’t go fur wrong, can I ? 
And, arter all, we mayn’t like schools or schoolmasters, 
not over above, but we can’t get on without ’em, I s’pose. 
But, look ye here, sir — if I goes and tells you where you 
can get hold of this here boy, you won’t go and wallup 
him now, will ye ? ” 

“ I can make 'no bargains,” said the doctor ; “ I shall 
act on my own discretion.” 

“That’s it,” said Tommy, unaccountably relieved, 
“spoke like a merciful Christian gen’leman ; if you don’t 
go actin’ on nothing more but your discretion, you can’t 
hurt him much, I take it. Well, then, since you’ve spoke 
out fair, I don’t mind putting you on his track like.” 

If the door of the cupboard had not been locked, Paul 
would undoubtedly have burst out and yielded himself up, 
to escape the humiliation of being sold like this by a mer- 
cenary and treacherous porter. As it was, he had to wait 
till the inevitable words should be spoken. 

“ Well, you see, went on Tommy, very slowly, as if 
struggling with the remnants of a conscience, “ it was like 
this here ; He comes up to me and says — your young gen- 
’leman, I mean — says he, 4 Porter, I wants to ’ide, I’ve run 
away.’ And I says to him, says I, ‘It’s no use your 
’anging about ’ere,’ I says, 4 ’cause, if you do, your guv’nor 
(meanin’ no offense to you, sir) ’ll be cornin’ up and 
ketchin’ of you on the ’op.’ 4 Right you are, porter,’ says 

he to me ; ‘ what do you advise ? ’ he says. * Well,’ I says, 

4 I don’ know as I’m right in givin’ you no advice at all, 
havin’ run away from them as has the care on you,’ I 
says ; 4 but if I was a young gen’lemen as didn’t want to 
be ketched, I should just walk on to Dufferton ; it ain’t 
on’y three mile or so, and you’ll ’ave time for to do it 
before the up-train comes along there.’ ‘ Thankee, porter,’ 
he says, 4 I’ll do that,’ and away he bolts, and, for any- 
ihing I know, he’s ’arf way there by this time.” 

44 A fly ! ” shouted the doctor, excitedly, when Tommy 
had come to the end of his veracious account. 44 I’ll catch 
the young rascal now — who has a good horse ? Davis, 


2l8 


VICE VERSA. 


I’ll take. you. Five shillings if you reach Dufferton before 
the up-train. Take the — ” 

The rest was lost in the banging of the fly door and the 
rumble of wheels ; the terrible man had been got safely 
off on a wrong scent, and Paul fell back among the lum- 
ber in his closet, faint with the suspense and relief. 

Presently he heard Tommy’s chuckling whisper through 
the key-hole ; “ Are you all right in there, sir ? he’s safe 
enough now ’orf on a pretty dance. You didn’t think I 
was goin’ to tell on ye, did ye now ? I ain’t quite sech a 
cur as that comes to, particular when a young gent saves 
me from the ’orrors, and gives me a ’arf-suffering. I’ll 
see you through, you make yourself easy about that.” 

Half an hour went slowly by for Mr. Bultitude in his 
darkness and solitude. The platform gradually filled, as 
he could tell by the tread of feet, the voices, and the 
scent of cigars, and at last, welcome sound, he heard the 
station bell ringing for the up train. 

It ran in the next minute, shaking the cupboard in 
which Paul crouched, till the brushes rattled. There was 
the usual blind hurry and confusion outside as it stopped. 
Paul waited impatiently inside. The time passed, and 
still no one came to let him out. He began to grow 
alarmed. Could Tommy have forgotten him ? Had he 
been sent away by some evil chance at the critical mo- 
ment ? Two or three times his excited fancy heard the 
fatal whistle sound for departure. Would he be left 
behind, after all ? 

But the next instant the door was noiselessly unlocked. 
“ Couldn’t do it, afore,” said honest Tommy. “ Our 
guv’nor would have seen me. Now’s your time. Here’s a 
empty first-class coach I’ve kept for ye. In with you 
now.” 

Pie hoisted Paul up the high footboard to an empty 
compartment, and shut the door, leaving him to sink 
down on the luxurious cushions in speechless and measure- 
less content. But Tommy had hardly done so before he 
reappeared and looked in. “ I say,” he suggested, “ if I 
was you, I would get under the seat before you gets to 
Dufferton ; otherways your guv’nor ’ll be spottin’ you. 
I’ll lock you in.” 


HARD PRESSED. 


219 


“ I’ll get under now, some one might see me here,” said 
Paul ; and too anxious for safety to thank his preserver, 
he crawled under the low blue-cushioned seat, which left 
just room enough for him to lie there in a very cramped 
and uncomfortable position. Still he need not stay there 
after the train had once started, except for five minutes 
or so at Dufferton. 

Unfortunately, he had not long been under the seat 
before he heard two loud, imperious voices just outside 
the carriage-door. 

“ Porter ! guard ! Hi, somebody ! open this door, will 
you ? it’s locked.” 

“This way, sir,” he heard Tommy’s voice say outside. 
“ Plenty of room higher up.” 

“ I don’t want to go higher up. I’ll go here. Just 
open it at once, I tell you.” 

The door was opened reluctantly, and two middle-aged 
men came in. “Always take the middle carriage of a 
train,” said the first. “Safest in any accident,” y’know. 
Never heard of middle carriage of a train getting smashed 
up, to speak of.” 

The other sat heavily down, just over Paul, with a com- 
fortable grunt, and the train started, Paul feeling naturally 
annoyed by this intrusion, as it compelled him to remain 
in seclusion for the whole of the journey. “ Still,” he 
thought, “it is lucky that I had time to get under here 
before they came in ; it would have seemed odd if I had 
done it afterward.” And he resigned himself to listen to 
the conversation which followed. 

“ What was it we were talking about just now ?” began 
the first. “ Let me see. Ah ! I remember. Yes ; it 
was a very painful thing — very, indeed, I assure you.” 

There is a certain peculiar and uncomfortable suspicion 
that attacks most of us at times, which cannot fairly be set 
down wholly to self-consciousness or an exaggerated idea 
of our own importance. I mean the suspicion that a 
partly heard conversation must have ourselves for its 
subject. As often as not, of course, it proves utterly 
unfounded, but once in a way, like most presentiments, 
it finds itself unpleasantly fulfilled. 

Mr. Bultitude, though he failed to recognize either of 


220 


VICE VERSA. 


the voices, was somehow persuaded that the conversation 
had something to do with himself, and listened with eager 
attention. 

“ Yes,” the speaker continued ; “ he was never, accord- 
ing to what I hear, a man of any extraordinary capacity, 
but he was always spoken of as a man of standing in the 
city, doing a safe business, not a risky one, and so on, 
you know. So, of course, his manner, when I called, 
shocked me all the more.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the other. " Was he violent or insulting, 
then ? ” 

“ No, no, I can only describe his conduct as eccentric — 
what one might call reprehensibly eccentric and extrava- 
gant. I didn’t call exactly in the way of business, but 
about a poor young fellow in my house, who is, I fear, 
rather far gone in consumption, and knowing he was a 
Life Governor, y’know, I thought he might give me a 
letter for the hospital. Well, when I got up to Mincing 
Lane — ” 

Paul started. It was as he had feared, then ; they were 
speaking of him ! 

“ When I got there, I sent in my card with a message 
that, if he was engaged or anything, I would take the 
liberty of calling at his private house, and so on. But 
they said he would see me. The clerk who showed me in, 
said, * You’ll find him a good deal changed, if you knew 
him, sir. We’re very uneasy about him here,’ which 
prepared me for something out of the common. Well, I 
went into a sort of inner room, and there he was, in his 
shirt-sleeves, busy over some abomination he was cooking 
at the stove, with the office-boy helping him ! I never 
was so taken aback in my life. I said something about 
calling another time, but Bultitude — ” 

Paul groaned. The blow had fallen. Well, it was 
better to be prepared and know the worst. 

“ Bultitude says, just like a great awkward school-boy, 
y’know, ‘ What’s your name ? How d’ye do ? Have some 
hardbake, it’s just done?’ Fancy finding a man in his 
position cooking toffee in the middle of the day, and offer- 
ing it to a perfect stranger ! ” 

“ Softening of the brain — must be,” said the other. 


HARD PRESSED. 


221 


“ I fear so. Well, he asked what I wanted, and I told 
him, and he actually said he never did any business now, 
except sign his name where his clerks told him. He’d 
worked hard all his life, he said, and he was tired of it. 
Business was, I understood him to say, £ all rot ! ’ 

“ Then he wouldn’t promise me votes, or give me a let- 
ter, or anything, without consulting his head clerk ; he 
seemed to know nothing whatever about it himself, and, 
when that was over, he asked me a quantity of frivolous 
questions which appeared to have a sort of catch in them, 
as far as I could gather, and he was exceedingly angry 
when I wouldn’t humor him.” 

“ What kind of questions.” 

“ Well, really I hardly know. I believe he wanted to 
know whether I had rather be a bigger fool than I looked, 
or look a bigger fool than I was, and he pressed me quite 
earnestly to repent some foolishness after him about 
‘ being a gold key,’ when he said he was a ‘ gold lock.’ I 
was very glad to get away from him, it was so distressing.” 

“ They tell me he has begun to speculate, too, lately,” 
said the other. “ You see his name about in some very 
queer things. It’s a very pitiful affair all together.” 

“ Paul writhed under his seat with shame. How could 
he, even if he succeeded in ousting Dick and getting back 
his old self — how could he ever hold up his head again 
after this ? 

Why, Dick must be mad. Even a schoolboy would 
have had more caution when so much depended on it. 
But none would suspect the real cause of the change. 
These horrible tales were no doubt being circulated every- 
where. 

The conversation fell back into a less personal channel 
again after this ; they talked of “ risks,” of some one who 
had only been “ writing ” a year and was doing seven 
thousand a week, of losses they had been “ on,” and of the 
uselessness of “ writing five hundred on everything,” and 
while at this point the train slackened and stopped — they 
had reached Dufferton. 

There was an opening of doors all along the train, and 
sounds as of some inquiry and answer at each. The 
voices became audible at length, and, as he had expected, 


222 


VICE VERSA. 


Paul found that the doctor, not having discovered him on 
the platform, was making a systematic search of the train, 
evidently believing that he had managed to slip in some- 
where unobserved. 

It was a horrible moment when the door of his compart- 
ment was flung open, and a stream of ice-cold air rushed 
under the blue cloth, which, fortunately for Paul, hung 
down almost to the floor. 

Some one held a lantern up outside, and by its rays 
Paul saw from behind the hanging the upper half of Dr. 
Grimstone appear, very pale and polite, at the door- 
way. He remained there for some moments without 
speaking, carefully examining every corner of the compart- 
ment. 

The two men on the seats drew their wraps about them 
and shivered, until at length one said, rather testily : “ Get 
in, sir ; kindly get in if you’re coming on, please. This 
draught is most unpleasant ! ” 

“ I do not propose to go by this train, sir,” said the doc- 
tor ; “ but, as a person intrusted with the care of youth, 
permit me to inquire whether you have seen (or, it may be, 
assisted to conceal) a small boy of intelligent appear- 
ance — ” 

“ Why should we conceal small boys of intelligent ap- 
pearance about us, pray ? ” demanded the man who had 
described his visit to Mincing Lane. “ And may we ask 
you to shut that door, and make any communications you 
wish to make through the window, or else come in and sit 
down ? ” 

“ That’s not an answer to my question, sir,” retorted the 
doctor. “ I notice you carefully decline to say whether 
you have seen a boy. I consider your manner suspicious, 
sir, and I shall insist on searching this carriage through 
and through till I find that boy ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude rolled himself up close against the parti- 
tion at these awful words. 

“ Guard, guard ! ” shouted the first gentleman. “ Come 
here. Here’s a violent person who will search this car- 
riage for something he has lost. I won’t be incon- 
venienced in this way without any reason whatever ! He 
says we’re hiding a boy in here ! ” 


HARD PRESSED. 


223 


“ Guard ! ” said the doctor, quite as angrily, “ J in- 
sist upon looking under these seats before you start the 
train. I’ve looked through every other carriage and he 
must be in here. Gentlemen, let me pass ; I’ll get him if 
I have to travel in this compartment to town with 
you ! ” 

“ For peace and quietness’ sake, gentlemen,” said the 
guard, “ let him look around just to ease his mind. Lend 
me your stick a minute, sir, please. I’ll turn him out if 
he’s anywhere about this here compartment ! ” 

And with this he pulled Dr. Grimstone down from the 
footboard and mounted it himself ; after which he began 
to rummage about under the seats with the doctor’s heavy 
stick. 

Every lunge found out some tender part in Mr. Bulti- 
tude’s person and caused him exquisite torture ; but he 
clenched his teeth hard to prevent a sound, while he 
thought each fresh dig must betray his whereabouts. 

“ There,” said the guard at last ; there really ain’t no 
one there, sir, you see. T’ve felt everywhere and — 
Hello, I certainly did feel something just then, gen- 
tlemen ! ” he added, in an undertone, after a lunge 
which took all the breath out of Paul’s body. All was 
lost now ! 

“ You touch that again with that confounded stick if 
you dare ! ” said one of the passengers. “ That’s a parcel 
of mine. I won’t have you poking holes through it in 
that way. Don’t tell that lunatic behind you ; he’ll be 
wanting it opened to see if his boy’s inside. Now per- 
haps you’ll let us alone.” 

“ Well, sir,” said the guard at last to the doctor, as he 
withdrew, “ he ain’t in there. There’s nothing under 
any of the seats. Your boy’ll be cornin’ on by the 
next train, most likely — the 8.40. We’re all behind. 
Right ! ” 

“ Good-night, sir,” said the first passenger, as he leaned 
out of the window, to the baffled schoolmaster on the 
platform. “ You’ve put us to all this inconvenience for 
nothing, and in the most offensive way, too. I hope you 
won’t find your boy till you’re in a better temper, for his 
sake.” 


224 


VICE VERSA. 


“If I had you out on this platform, sir,” shouted the 
angry doctor, “ I’d horsewhip you for that insult. I believe 
the boy’s there, and you know it. I — ” 

But the train swept off, and, to Paul’s joy and thankful- 
ness, soon left the doctor gesticulating and threatening, 
miles behind it. 

“ What a violent fellow for a schoolmaster, eh ? ” said 
one of Paul’s companions, when they were fairly off again. 
“ I wasn’t going to have him turning the cushions inside 
out here ; we shouldn’t have settled down again before we 
got in ! ” 

“ No ; and if the guard hasn’t, as it is, injured that In- 
dian shawl in my parcel. I shall be — Why, bless my 
soul, that parcel’s not under the seat after all ! It’s up in 
the rack. I remember putting it there now.” 

“ The guard must have fancied he felt something ; and 
yet — Look here, Goldicutt ; just feel under here with your 
foot. It certainly does seem as if something soft was — 
eh?” 

Mr. Goldicutt accordingly explored Paul’s ribs with his 
boot for some moments, which was very painful. 

“ Upon my word,” he said at last, “ it really does seem 
very like it. It’s not hard enough for a bag or a hat-box. 
It yields distinctly when you kick it. Can you fetch it 
out with your umbrella do you think ? Shall we tell the 
guard at the next — ? Lord, its coming out of its own 
accord. It’s a dog. No, my stars — it’s the boy, after 
all ! ” 

For, Paul, alarmed at the suggestion about the guard, 
once more felt inclined to risk the worst and reveal him- 
self. Begrimed with coal, smeared with whitewash, and 
covered with dust and flue, he crawled slowly out and 
gazed imploringly up at his fellow-passengers. 

After the first shock of surprise they lay back in their 
seats and laughed till they cried. 

“ Why, you young rascal ! ” they said, when they recov- 
ered breath. “ you don’t mean to say you’ve been under 
there the whole time ? ” 

“ I have, indeed ! ” said Paul. “ I — I didn’t like to 
come out before.” 

“And are you the boy all this fuss was about? Yes? 


HARD PRESSED. 


225 


And we kept the schoolmaster off without knowing it ! 
Why, this is splendid, capital i You’re something like a 
boy, you little dog, you ! This is the best joke I’ve heard 
for many a day ! ” 

“ I hope,” said Paul, “ I haven’t inconvenienced you. I 
could not help it, really.” 

“ Inconvenienced us ? Gad, your schoolmaster came 
very near inconveniencing us and you too. But there, he 
won’t trouble any of us now. To think of us swearing by 
all our gods that there was no boy in here, and vowing he 
shouldn’t come in, while you were lying down there under 
the seat all the time ! Why, it’s lovely ! The boy’s got 
pluck and manners too. Shake hands, young gentleman ; 
you owe us no apologies. I haven’t had such a laugh for 
many a day.” 

“ Then you — you won’t give me up ? ” faltered poor 
Paul. 

“ Well,” said the one who was called Goldicutt, and 
who was a jovial old gentleman with a pink face and white 
whiskers, “ we’re not exactly going to take the trouble of 
getting out at the next station, and bringing you back to 
Dufferton, just to oblige that hot-tempered master of 
yours ; you know he hasn’t been so particularly civil as to 
deserve that.” 

“ But if he were to telegraph and get some one to stop 
me at St. Pancras,” said Paul nervously. 

“ Ah, he might do that, to be sure — sharp boy this — 
well, as we’ve gone so far, I suppose we must go through 
with the business now and smuggle the young scamp past 
the detectives, eh, Travers ? ” 

The young man addressed assented readily enough, 
for the doctor had been so unfortunate as to prejudice 
them both from the first by his unjustifiable suspicions, 
and it is to be feared they had no scruples in helping to 
outwit him. 

Then they noticed the pitiable state Mr. Bultitude was 
in, and he had to give them a fair account of his escape 
and subsequent adventures, at which even their sympathy 
could not restrain delighted shouts of laughter — though 
Paul himself saw little enough in it all to laugh at ; they 
asked his name, which he thought more prudent, for vari- 

15 


226 


VICE VERSA. 


ous reasons, to give as “ Jones,” and other details, which 
I am afraid he invented as he went on, and altogether 
they reached Kentish Town in a state of high satisfaction 
with themselves and their protegk. 

At Kentish Town there was one more danger to be 
encountered, for with the ticket collector there appeared 
one of the station inspectors. “ Beg pardon, gentlemen,” 
said the latter, peering curiously in, “ but does that 
young gent in the corner happen to belong to either of 
you ? ” 

The white-whiskered gentleman seemed a little flus- 
tered at this downright inquiry, but the other was more 
equal to the occasion. “ Do you hear that, Johnny, my 
boy,” he said to Paul (whom they had managed during 
the journey to brush and scrape into something like ap- 
proaching respectability) ; “ they want to know if you 
belong to me. I suppose you’ll allow a son to belong to 
his father to a certain extent, eh ? ” he asked the in- 
spector. 

The man apologized for what he conceived to be a 
mistake. “■ We’ve orders to look out for a young gent 
about the size of yours, sir,” he explained ; “ no offense 
meant, I’m sure,” and he went away satisfied. 

A very few minutes more and the train rolled into the 
terminus, under the same wide arch beneath which Paul 
had stood, helpless and bewildered a week ago. 

“ Now, my advice to you, young man,” said Mr. Goldi- 
cutt, as he put Paul into a cab, and pressed half a sover- 
eign into his unwilling hand, “ is to go straight home to 
papa and tell him all about it. I daresay he won’t be 
very hard on you ; here’s my card ; refer him to me if you 
like. Good-night, my boy, good-night, and good luck to 
you. Gad, the best joke I’ve had for years ! ” 

And the cab rolled away, leaving them standing chuck- 
ling on the platform, and, as Paul found himself plunging 
once more into the welcome roar and rattle of London 
streets, he forgot the difficulties and dangers that might 
yet lie before him in the thought that at last he was 
beyond the frontier, and for the first time since he had 
slipped through the playground-gate, he breathed freely. 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


227 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 

“ But homeward — home — what home ? had he a home ? 

His home — he walked ; 

Then down the long street having slowly stolen, 

His heart foreshadowing all calamity, 

His eyes upon the stones, he reached his home.” 

Paul had been careful, while in the hearing of his 
friends, to give the cabman a fictitious address, but as 
soon as he reached the Euston Road he stopped the man 
and ordered him to put him down at the church near the 
south end of Westbourne Terrace, for he dared not drive 
up openly to his own door. 

At last he found himself standing safely on the pave- 
ment, looking down on the long line of yellow lamps of 
his own terrace, only a few hundred yards from home. 

But, though his purpose was now within easy reach, his 
spirits were far from high ; his anxiety had returned with 
tenfold power ; he felt no eagerness or exultation ; on the 
contrary, the task he had set himself had never before 
seemed so hopeless, so insurmountable. 

He stood for some time by the railing of the church, 
which was lighted up for evening service, listening blankly 
to the solemn drone of the organ within, unable to sum- 
mon up resolution to move from the spot and present 
himself to his unsuspecting family. 

It was a cold night, with a howling wind, and high in 
the blue-black sky fleecy-white clouds were coursing swift- 
ly along ; he obliged himself to set out at last, and walked 
down the flags toward his house, shivering, as much from 
nervousness as cold. 

There was a dance somewhere in the terrace that even- 
ing — a large one ; as far as he could see there were close 
ranks of carriages with blazing lamps, and he even fancied 
he could hear the shouts of the link-boys and the whistles 
of the commissionaires. 


228 


VICE VERSA. 


As he came nearer he had a hideous Suspicion, which 
soon became a certainty, that the entertainment was at 
his own house ; worse still, it was of a kind and on a 
scale calculated to shock and horrify any prudent house- 
holder and father of a family. 

The balcony above the portico was positively hung with 
gaudy Chinese lanterns, and there were even some strange 
sticks and shapes up in one corner that looked suspiciously 
like fireworks. Fireworks in Westbourne Terrace ! What 
would the neighbors think or do ? 

Between the wall which separates the main road from 
the terrace and the street front there were no less than 
four piano-organs, playing, it is to be feared, by express 
invitation ; and there was the usual crowd of idlers and 
loungers standing about by the awning stretched over the 
portico, listening to the music and loud laughter which 
came from the brilliantly lighted upper rooms. 

Paul remembered then, too late, that Barbara, in that 
memorable letter of hers, had mentioned a grand chil- 
dren’s party as being in contemplation. Dick had held 
his tongue about it that morning ; and he himself had not 
thought it was to be so soon. 

For an instant he felt almost inclined to turn away and 
give the whole thing up in sick despair-^-even to return to 
Rodwell Regis and brave the doctor’s anger; for how 
could he hope to explain matters to his family and ser- 
vants, or get the Garuda Stone safely into his hands again 
before all these guests, in the whirl and tumult of an 
evening party ? 

And yet he dared not, after all, go back to Crichton 
House — that was too terrible an alternative — and he ob- 
viously could not roam the world to any extent, a runaway 
schoolboy to all appeaarnce, and with less than a sovereign 
in his pocket ! 

After a short struggle he felt he must make his way in, 
watch and wait, and leave the rest to chance. It was his 
evil fate, after all, that had led him on to make his escape 
on this night, of all others, and had allowed him to come 
through so much, only to be met with these unforeseen 
complications just when he might have imagined the 
worst was over. 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


229 


He forced his way through the staring crowd, and went 
down the steps into the area ; for he naturally shrank from 
braving the front door, with its crowd of footmen and 
hired waiters. 

He found the door in the basement open, which was 
fortunate, and slipped quietly through the pantry, intending 
to reach the hall by the kitchen stairs. But here another 
check met him. The glass-door which led to the stairs 
happened to be shut, and he heard voices in the kitchen, 
which convinced him that, if he wished to escape notice, 
he must wait quietly in the darkness until the door was 
opened for him, whenever that might be. 

The door from the pantry to the .kitchen was partly 
open, however, and Mr. Bultitude could not avoid hearing 
everything that passed there, although every fresh word 
added to his uneasiness, until at last he would have given 
worlds to escape from his involuntary position of eaves- 
dropper. 

There were only two persons just then in the kitchen — 
his cook, who, still in her working- dress, was refreshing 
herself, after her labors over the supper, with a journal of 
some sort ; and the housemaid, who, in neat gala cos^ 
tume, was engaged in fastening a bow more securely in her 
mob-cap. 

“ They haven’t give a answer yet, Eliza,” said the cook, 
looking up from her paper. 

“ Lor’, cook ! ” said Eliza, “ you couldn’t hardly expect 
it, seeing you only wrote on Friday.” 

“No more I did, Eliza, You see it on’y began to come 
into my mind sudden like this week. I’m sure I no more 
dreamt — . But they’ve answered a lady who’s bin in much 
the same situation as me, aperiently. You just ’ark to 
this a minute.” And she proceeded to read from her 
paper; “ 1 Lady Bird : You ask us (1) what are the signs 
by which you may recognize the first dawnings of your 
lover’s affections. On so delicate a matter we are natur- 
ally averse from advising you ; your own heart must be 
your best guide. But perhaps we may mention a few of 
the most usual and infallible symptoms’ — What sort of a 
thing is a symptim, Eliza ? ” 

“ A symptim, cook,” explained Eliza, “ is a something 


230 


VICE VERSA. 


wrong with the inside. Her at my last place in Cadogan 
Square had them uncommon bad. She was what they 
call aesthetical, pore young thing. Them infallible ones 
are always the worst.” 

“ It don’t seem to make sense, though, Eliza,” objected 
the cook, doubtfully. “ Hear how it goes on : ‘ Infallible 
symptoms. If you have truly inspired him with a genuine 
and lasting passion’ (don’t he write beautiful ?) ‘ passion, 
he will continually haunt those places in which you are 
most likely to be found ’ (I couldn’t tell you the times 
master’s bin down in my kitchen this last week) ; ‘ he will 
appear awkward and constrained in your presence ’ (any- 
thing more awkward than master I never set eyes on. 
He’s knocked down one of the best porcelain vegetables 
this very afternoon ! ) ; ‘he will beg for any little favors, 
some trifle, it may be, made by your own hand ’ (master’s 
always a-asking if I’ve got any of those doughnuts to give 
away) ; ‘ and, if granted, he will treasure them in secret 
with pride and rapture ’ (I don’t think master kep any of 
them doughnuts, though, Eliza. I saw him swaller five ; 
but you couldn’t treasure a doughnut, not to mention — . 
I’ll make him a pincushion when I’ve time, and see what 
he does with it.) ‘ If you detect all these indications of 
liking in the person you suspect of paying his addresses to 
you, you may safely reckon upon bringing him to your 
feet in a very short space of time. (2) Yes, Fullers’ earth 
will make them exquisitely white.’ ” 

“ There, Eliza ! ” said cook, with some pride, when she 
had finished ; “ if it had been meant for me it couldn’t 
have been clearer. Ain’t it written nice ? And on’y to 
think of my bringing master to my feet. It seems almost 
too much for a cook to expect ! ” 

“ I wouldn’t say so, cook ; I wouldn’t. Have some 
proper pride. Don’t let him think he’s only to ask and 
have ! Why, in the ‘ London Journal ’ last week there was 
a cook as married a governess ; an’ I should ’ope as a cook 
ranked above a governess. Nor yet master ain’t a dook ; 
he’s only in the city ! But are you sure he’s not only a 
trifling with your affections, cook ? He’s bin very affable 
and pleasant with all of us lately.” 

“ It ain’t for me to speak too positive, Eliza,” said cook, 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. ^ 231 

almost bashfully, “ nor to lay bare the feelings of abosom, 
beyond what’s right and proper. You’re young yet, Eliza, 
and don’t understand these things — leastways, it’s to be 
hoped not (Eliza having apparently tossed her head) ; but 
do you remember that afternoon last week as master 
stayed at home a-playing games with the children ? I 
was a-goin’ up stairs to fetch my thimble, and there’ on the 
bedroom landin’, was master all alone, with one of Master 
Dick’s toy guns in his ’and, and a old slouch ’at on his 
head.” 

“ ‘ Have you got a pass, cook ? ’ he says, and my ’art 
came right up into my mouth, he looked that severe and 
lofty at me. I thought he was put out about some- 
think. 

“ I said I didn’t know as it was required, but I could 
get one,” I says, “ not knowing what he was alludin’ to 
all the same. 

“ But he says, quite soft and tender-like (here Paul shiv- 
ered with shame), ‘ No, you needn’t do that, cook ; there 
ain’t any occasion for it ; only’ he says, ‘ if you haven’t 
got no pass, you’ll have to give me a kiss, you know, cook !’ 
I thought I should have sunk through the stairs, I was 
that overcome. I saw through his rogue with half an 
eye.” 

“ Why, he said the same to me ” said Eliza, “ only I 
had a pass, as luck had it, which Miss Barbara give me. 
I’d ha’ boxed his ears if he’d tried it, too, master or no 
master ! ” 

“ You talk light, Eliza,” said the cook, sentimentally, 
“ but you weren’t there to see. It wasn’t only the words, 
it was the way he said it, and the ’ug he gave me at the 
time. It was as good as a proposial. And, I tell you, 
whatever you may say — and mark my words — I ’ave 
’opes ! ” 

“ Then if I was you, cook,” said Eliza, “ I’d try if I 
could get him to speak out in plain writing ; then, what- 
ever came of it, there’d be as good as five hundred pounds 
in your pockets.” 

“ Love-letters ! ” cried the cook, “ why, if that’s all, 
Lord love you, Eliza — Why, William, how you made me 
jump ! I thought you was up seem to the supper-table,” 


232 


VICE VERSA. 


“ The pastry-cook’s man is looking after all that, Jane,” 
said Boaler’s voice. “ I’ve been up outside the droring- 
room all this time, lookin’ at the games goin’ on in there. 
It’s as good as a play to see the way as master is a un- 
bendin’ of himself, and such a out and out stiff un as he 
used to be, too ! But it ain’t what I like to see in a re- 
spectable house. I’m glad I give warning. It doesn’t do 
for a man in my position to compromise his character by 
such goings on. I never see anything like it in any fami- 
lies I lived with before. Just come up and see for your- 
self. You needn’t mind about cleaning of yourself — they 
won’t see you.” 

So the cook allowed herself to be persuaded by Boaler, 
and the two went up to the hall, and, to Mr. Bultitude’s 
intense relief, forgot to close the glazed door which cut him 
off from the staircase. 

As he followed them up stairs at a cautious interval, and 
thought over what he had just so unwillingly overheard, he 
felt as one who had just been subjected to a moral shower- 
bath. “ That dreadful woman ! ” he groaned. “ Who 
would have dreamed that she would get such horrible 
ideas into her head ? I shall never be able to look either 
of those women in the face again ; they will both have to 
go — and she made such excellent soup, too. I do hope 
that miserable Dick has not been fool enough to write to 
her — but no, that’s too absurd.” 

But more than ever he began to wish that he had stayed 
in the playground. 

When he reached the hall he stood there for some mo- 
ments in anxious deliberation over his best course of pro- 
ceeding. His main idea was to lie in wait somewhere for 
Dick, and try the result of an appeal to his better feelings 
to acknowledge his outcast parent and abdicate gracefully. 

If that failed, and there was every reason to expect that 
it would fail, he must threaten to denounce him before the 
whole party. It would cause a considerable scandal no 
doubt, and be a painful thing to his own feelings, but still 
he must do it, or frighten Dick by threatening to do it ; 
and at all hazards he must contrive during the interview 
to snatch or purloin the magic stone ; without that he was 
practically helpless. 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


233 

He looked round him ; the study was piled up with 
small boy’s hats and coats, and in one corner was a kind 
of refined bar, where till lately a trim housemaid had been 
dispensing coffee and weak lemonade ; she might return 
at any moment ; he would not be safe there. 

Nor would the dining-room be more secluded, for in it 
there was an elaborate supper being laid out by the wait- 
ers, which, as far as he could see through the crack in the 
door, consisted chiefly of lobsters, trifle, and pink cham- 
pagne. He felt a grim joy at the sight, more than he 
would suffer for this night’s festivities. 

As he stole about, with a dismal sense of the unfitness 
of his sneaking about his own house in this guilty fashion, 
he became gradually aware of the scent of a fine cigar, 
one of his own special Cabanas. He wondered who had 
the impudence to trespass on his cigar-chest ; it could 
hardly be one of the children. 

He traced the scent to a billiard-room which he had 
built out at the side of the house, which was a corner one, 
and, going down to the door, opened it sharply and walked 
in. 

Comfortably imbedded in the depths of a long, well- 
padded lounging chair, with a spirit-case and two or three 
bottles of soda-water at his elbow, sat a man who was 
lazily glancing through the “ Field,” with his feet resting 
on the mantelpiece, one on each side of the blazing fire. 
He was a man of about the middle size, with a face rather 
bronzed and reddened by climate, a nose slightly aquiline 
and higher in color, quick, black eyes, with an uneasy 
glance in them, bushy black whiskers, more like the anti- 
quated “ Dundreary ” type than modern fashion permits, 
and a wide, flexible mouth. 

Paul knew him at once, though he had not seen him for 
some years ; it was Paradine, his disreputable brother-in 
law — the “ Uncle Marmaduke ” who, by importing the 
mysterious Garudd Stone, had brought all these woes 
upon him ; he noticed at once that his appearance was un- 
usually prosperous, and that the velvet smoking coat he wore 
over his evening dress was new and handsome. “No 
wonder,” he thought bitterly ; “ the fellow has been living 
on me for a week ! ” He stood by the cue-rack looking at 


234 


VICE VERSA . 


him for some time, then he said, with a cold, ir'onic dig- 
nity, that (if he had known it) came oddly from his boyish 
lips : “ I hope you are making yourself quite comfort- 
able ? ” 

Marmaduke put down his cigar and stared. “ Uncom- 
monly attentive and polite of you to inquire,” 'he said, at 
last, with a dubious smile, which showed a row of very 
white teeth, “ whoever you are. If it will relieve your 
mind at all to know, young man, I’m happy to say I am 
tolerably comfortable, thanks.” 

“ I — I concluded as much,” said Paul, nearly choked 
with rage. 

“You’ve been very nicely brought up,” said Uncle Mar- 
maduke ; “ I can see that at a glance. So you’ve come 
in here, like me, eh ? because the children bore you, and 
you want a quiet gossip over the world in general ? Sit 
down, then ; take a cigar, if you don’t think it will make 
you very unwell. I shouldn’t recommend it myself, you 
know, before supper— but you’re a man of the world and 
know what’s good for you. Come along, enjoy yourself 
till you find yourself getting queer — then drop it. 

Mr. Bultitude had always detested the man ; there was 
an underbred swagger and familiarity in his manner that 
made him indescribably offensive ; just now he seemed 
doubly detestable, and yet Paul, by a strong effort suc- 
ceeded in controlling his temper. 

He could not afford to make enemies just then, and, 
objectionable as the man was, his astuteness made him a 
valuable ally ; he determined, without considering the risk 
of making such a confidant, to tell him all and ask his 
advice and help. 

“ Don’t you know me, Paradine ? ” 

“ I don’t think I have the privilege ; you’re one of Miss 
Barbara’s numerous young friends, I suppose ? and yet, 
now I look at you, you don’t seem to be exactly got up 
for an evening party ; there’s something in your voice too, 
I ought to know. 

“ You ought,” said Paul, with a gulp. “ My name is 
Paul Bultitude ! ” 

“ To be sure!” cried Marmaduke. “By Jove, then, 
you’re my young nephew, don’t you know ; I’m your long- 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


2 35 


lost uncle, my boy, I am indeed (I’ll excuse you from 
coming to my arms, however ; I never was good at family 
embraces). But I say, you little rascal, you’ve never been 
asked to these festivities ; you ought to be miles away, 
fast asleep in your bed at school. What in the name of 
wonder are you doing here ? ” 

“ I’ve — left school,” said Paul. 

“ So I perceive, sulky because they left you out of all 
this, eh ? Thought you’d turn up in the middle of the 
banquet, like the specter bridegroom — ‘the worms they 
crawled in, and the worms they crawled out, eh ? ’ Well, 
I like your pluck, but, ahem — I’m afraid you’ll find they’ve 
rather an unpleasant way of laying your kind of appari- 
tions.” 

“Never mind about that,” said Paul, hurriedly; “ I 
have something I must tell you — I’ve no time to lose — 
I’m a desperate man ! ” 

“ You are,” Paradine assented with a loud laugh ; “oh, 
you are indeed ! ‘ a desperate man.’ Capital ! a stern 
chase, eh ? the schoolmaster close behind with the birch ? 
It’s quite exciting, you know, but, seriously, I’m very 
much afraid you’ll catch it ! ” 

“ If,” began Mr. Bultitude in great embarrassment, “ if 
I was to tell you that I was not myself at all — but some- 
body else, a — in fact, an entirely different person from 
what I seem to you to be — I suppose you would laugh ? ” 
“ I beg your pardon,” said his brother-in-law politely, 
I don’t think I quite catch the idea ? ” 

“ When I assure you now, solemnly, as I stand here 
before you, that I am not the miserable boy whose form I 
am condemned to — to wear, you’ll say it is incredible ? ” 

“ Not at all — by no means, I quite believe you. Only 
(really it’s a mere detail), but I should rather like to know, 
if you’re not that particular boy, what other boy you may 
happen to be ? You’ll forgive my curiosity.” 

“I’m not a boy at all — I’m your own unhappy brother- 
in-law, Paul ! You don’t believe me, I see ? ” 

“ Oh, pardon me, it’s perfectly clear ! you’re not you’re 
own son, but your own father — it’s a little confusing at 
first, but no doubt common enough. I’m glad you men- 
tioned it, though.” 


236 


VICE VERSA . 


“ Go on,” said Paul, bitterly, “ make light of it ; you 
fancy you are being very clever, but you will find out the 
truth in time.” 

“ Not without external assistance, I’m afraid,” said 
Paradine, calmly. “ A more awful little liar for your age 
I never saw — don’t you think you can lie pretty well your- 
self ? ’’ 

“ I’m tired of this,” said Paul. “ Only listen to reason 
and common sense.” 

“ Only give me a chance.” 

“ I tell you,” protested Paul, earnestly, “ its the sober, 
awful truth — I’m not a boy ; it’s years since I was a boy ; 
I’m a middle-aged man, thrust into this — this humiliating 
form ” 

“ Don’t say that,” murmured the other ; it’s an excellent 
fit — very becoming, I assure you.” 

“ Do you want to drive me mad with your clumsy 
jeers ? ” cried Paul. “ Look at me. Do I speak, do I 
behave, like an ordinary schoolboy ? ” 

“ I really hope not — for the sake of the rising genera- 
tion,” said Uncle Marmaduke, chuckling at his own 
powers of repartee. 

“You are very jaunty to day; you look as if you were 
well off,” said Paul, slowly. “ I remember a time when a 
certain bill was presented to me, drawn by you, and 
appearing to be accepted (long before I ever saw it) by 
me. I consented to meet it for my poor Maria’s sake, 
and because to disown my signature would ruin you for 
life. Do you remember how you went down on your 
knees in my private room and swore you would reform 
and be a credit to the family yet ? You weren’t quite so 
well off, or so jaunty then, unless I am very much 
mistaken.” 

These words had an extraordinary effect upon Uncle 
Marmaduke ; he turned ashy white, and his quick eyes 
shifted restlessly as he half rose from his chair and threw 
away his unfinished cigar. 

“ You young hound ! ” he said, breathing hard and 
speaking under his breath. “ How did you get hold of 
- that — that lying story ? Your father must have let it out ! 
Why do you bring up bygones like this ? You — you’re a 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


2 37 


confounded, disagreeable little prig! Who told you to 
play an ill-natured trick of this sort on an uncle, who may 
have been wild and reckless in youth — was in fact — but 
who never,- never misused his relation toward you as — as 
an uncle ? ” 

“ How did I get hold of the story ? ” said Paul, 
observing the impression he had made. “ Do you think 
if I were really a boy of thirteen I should know as much 
about you as I do ? Do you want to know more ? Ask, 
if you dare ! Shall I tell you how it was you left your 
army-coach without going up for examination ? Will you 
have the story of your career in my old friend Parkinson’s 
counting-house, or the real reason of your tripto New 
York, or what it was that made your father add that 
codicil to his will, cutting you off with a set of engravings 
of the ‘ Rake’s Progress,’ and a guinea to pay for framing 
them ? I can tell you all about it, if you care to hear.” 

“ No ! ” shrieked Paradine, “ I w r on’t listen. When you 
grow up, ask your father to buy you a society journal. 
You’re cut out for an editor of one. It doesn’t interest 
me.” 

“ Do you believe my story or not ? ” asked Paul. 

“ I don’t know. Who could believe it ? ” said the 
other, sullenly. How can you possibly account for it ? ” 

“ Do you remember giving Maria a little sandal-wood 
box with a small stone in it ? ” said Paul. 

“ I have some recollections of giving her something of 
that kind. A curiosity, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ I wish I had never seen it. That infernal stone, 
Paradine, has done all this to me. Did no one tell you it 
was supposed to have any magic power ? ” 

“ Why, now I think of it, that old black rascal, Binda- 
bun Doss, did try to humbug me with some such 
story ; said he believed it was a talisman, but the secret 
was lost. I thought it was just his stingy way of trying to 
make the rubbish out as something priceless, as it - ought 
to have been, considering all I did for the old ruffian.” 

“ You told Maria it was a talisman. Bindabun what’s- 
his-name was right. It is a talisman of the deadliest sort. 
I’ll soon convince you, if you will only hear me out.” 

And then, in white-hot wrath and indignation, Mn 


238 


VICE VERSA . 


Bultitude began to tell the story I have already attempted 
to sketch here, dwelling bitterly on Dick’s heartless 
selfishness and cruelty, and piteously on his own incredi- 
ble sufferings, while Uncle Marmaduke, lolling back in 
his arm-chair, with an attempt (which was soon aban- 
doned) to retain a smile of amused skepticism on his face, 
heard him out in complete silence and with all due gravity. 

Indeed, Paul’s manner left him no room for further 
unbelief. His tale, wild and improbable as it was, was 
too consistent and elaborate for any schoolboy to have 
invented, and besides, the imposture would have been so 
entirely purposeless. 

When his brother-in-law had come to the end of his sad 
history, Paradine was silent for some time. It was some 
relief to know that the darkest secrets of his life had not 
been ferreted out by a phenomenally sharp nephew ; but 
the change in the situation was not without its draw- 
backs ; it remained to be seen how it might affect himself. 
He already saw his reign in Westbourne Terrace threat- 
ened with a speedy determination, unless he played his 
cards well. 

“ Well,” he said, at last, with a swift, keen glance at 
Paul, who sat anxiously waiting for his next words, 
“ suppose I were to say that I think there may be some- 
thing in the story of yours, what then ? What is it you 
want me to do for you ? ” 

“ Why,” said Paul, “ with all you owe to me, now you 
know this horrible injustice I have had to bear, you surely 
don’t mean to say that you won’t help me to right my- 
self ? ” 

“ And if I did help you, what then ? ” 

“ Why, I should be able to recover all I have lost, of 
course,” said Mr. Bultitude. He thought his brother-in- 
law had grown very dull. 

“ Ah, but I mean, what’s to become of me ? ” 

“ You ?” repeated Paul (he had not thought of that). 
“ Well, hum, for what I know and what you know that I 
know about your past life, you can’t expect me to encour- 
age you to remain here ? ” 

“ No,” said Uncle Marmaduke.. “ Of course not ; very 
right and proper.” 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


239 


“ But,” said Paul, willing to make all reasonable con- 
cessions, “ anything I can do to advance your prospects — 
such as paying your passage out to New York, you know, 
and so on — I should be very ready to do.” 

“ Thank you ! ” said the other. 

“ And even, if necessary, provide you with a small fund 
to start afresh upon. Honestly,” said Paul, “ you will not 
find me difficult to deal with.” 

“ It’s a dazzling proposition,” remarked Paradine, dryly. 
“ You have such an alluring way of putting things. But 
the fact is, you’ll hardly believe it, but I’m remarkably 
well off here. I am indeed. Your son, you know, though 
not you (except as a mere matter of form), really makes, 
as they say of the marmalade in the advertisements, an 
admirable substitute. I doubt, I do assure you, whether 
yourself would have received me with quite the same 
warmth and hospitality I have met with from him.” 

“ So do I,” said Paul ; “ very much.” 

“ Just so ; for, without your admirable business ca- 
pacity and extraordinary firmness of character, you 
know, he has, if you’ll excuse my saying so, a more 
open, guileless nature, a more entire and touching faith 
in his fellow-man and brother-in-law, than were ever 
yours.” 

“ To say that to me,” said Paul, hotly, “ is nothing less 
than sheer impudence.” 

“ My dear Paul (it does seem deuced odd to be talking 
to a little shrimp like you as a grown-up brother-in-law. I 
shall get used to it presently, I dare say). I flatter my- 
self I am a man of the world. We’re dealing with one 
another now, as the lawyers have it, at arm’s length. Just 
put yourself in my place (you’re so remarkably good at 
putting yourself in other people’s places, you know). 
Look at the thing from my point of view. Accidentally 
dropping in at your offices to negotiate (if I could) a 
small temporary loan from anyone I chanced to meet on 
the premises, I find myself, to my surprise, welcomed with 
effusion into what I then imagined to be your arms. 
More than that, I was invited here for an indefinite time, 
all my little eccentricities unmentioned, overlooked. I 
was deeply touched (it struck me, I confess, at one 


240 


VICE VERSA. 


time that you must be touched too), but I made the best 
use of my opportunities. I made hay while the sun 
shone.” 

“ Do you mean to make me lose my temper ? ” inter- 
rupted Paul. “ It will not take much more.” 

“ I have no objection. I find men as a rule easier to 
deal with when they have once lost their temper, their 
heads so often go too. But to return : a man with nerve 
and his fair share of brains, like myself, only wants a cap- 
italist (he need not be a millionaire) at his back to con- 
quer the world. It’s not by any means my first campaign, 
and I’ve had reverses, but I see victory in my grasp, sir, 
in my grasp at last ! ” 

Paul groaned. 

“ Now you — it’s not your fault, I know, a mere defect 
of constitution ; but you, as a speculator, were, if I may 
venture to put it so, not worth your salt ; no boldness, no 
dash, all caution. But your promising son is a regular 
whale on speculation, and I may tell you that we stand in 
together in some little ventures that would very probably 
make your hair stand on end — you wouldn’t have 
touched them. And yet there’s money in every one of 
them.” 

“ I daresay there is,” said Paul, savagely ; “ I won’t 
have any of my money in them.” 

“ You don’t know much about these things, you see,” 
said Marmaduke ; *“ I tell you I have my eye on some fine 
openings for capital.” 

“ Your pockets always were very fine openings for 
capital,” retorted Paul. 

“ Ha, ha, deuced sharp that ! But, to come to the 
point, you were always a sensible, practical kind of a 
fellow, and you must see that, for me to back you up 
and upset this young rascal who has stepped into your 
slippers, might be morally meritorious enough, but, 
treating it from a purely pecuniary point of view, it’s not 
business.” 

“ I see,” said Mr. Bultitude, heavily ; “ then you side 
against me ? ” 

“ Did I ever say I would side against you ? Let us hear 
first what you propose to do.” 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


241 


Paul upon this, explained that, as he believed the stone 
still retained its power of granting one wish to any other 
person who happened to get hold of it, his idea was to 
get possession of it somehow from Dick, who probably 
would have it about him somewhere, and then pass it on 
to some one whom he could trust not to misuse it so 
basely. 

“ A good idea that, Paul, my boy,” said Paradine, smil- 
ing ; “ but you don’t imagine our young friend would be 
quite such an idiot as not to see your game ! Why, he 
would pitch the stone in the gutter and stamp it to powder 
rather than let you get hold of it.” 

“He’s quite capable of it,” said Paul; in fact, he 
threatened to do worse than that. I doubt if I shall ever 
be able to manage it myself ; but what am I to do ? I 
must try, and I’ve no time to lose about it either.” 

“ I tell you this,” said Marmaduke, “ if you let him see 
you here, it’s all up with you. What you want is some 
friend to manage this for you, some one he won’t suspect. 

“ Now, suppose I were willing to risk it for you ? ” 

“ You ! ” cried Paul, with involuntary distrust. 

“ Why not ? ” said Marmaduke, with a touch of feeling. 
“Ah, I see, you can’t trust me. You’ve got an idea into 
your head that I’m a thorough-paced rascal, without 
a trace of human feeling about me. I daresay I deserve 
it, I daresay I do ; but it’s not generous, my boy, for all 
that. I hope to show you your mistake yet, if you give 
me the chance. You allow yourself to be prejudiced by 
the past ; that’s where you make your mistake. I only 
put before you clearly and plainly what it was I was giv- 
ing up in helping you. A fellow may have a hard, cynical 
kind of way of putting things, and yet, take my word for 
it, Paul, have a heart as tender as a spring chicken under- 
neath. I believe I’m something like that myself. I tell 
you I’m sorry for you. I don’t like to see a family man 
of your position in such a regular deuce of a hole. I feel 
bound to give you a lift out of it, and let my prospects 
take their own chance. I leave the gratitude to you. 
When I’ve done, kick me down the doorsteps if you like. 
I shall go out into the world with a glow of self-approval 
(and rapid motion) warming my system, Take my advice. 


242 


VICE VERSA. 


don’t attempt to tackle Master Dick yourself. Leave him 
to me.” 

“ If I could only make up my mind to trust you ! ” mut- 
tered Paul. 

“ The old distrust,” cried Marmaduke ; “ you can’t 
forget. You won’t believe a poor devil like me can have 
any gratitude, any disinterestedness left in him. Never 
mind, I’ll go. I’ll leave it to you. I’ll send Dick in here, 
and we shall see whether he’s such a fool as you think 
him.” 

“ No,” said Paul, no ; I feel you’re right ; that would 
never do.” 

“ It would be for my advantage, I think,” said the 
other ; “ but you had better take me while I am in a mag- 
nanimous mood ; the opportunity may never occur 
again. Come, am I to help you or not ? Yes or no ? ” 

“ I must accept,” said Paul, reluctantly. I can’t find 
Boaler now, and it might take hours to make him see 
what I wanted. I’ll trust to your honor. What shall 
I do ? ” 

“ Do ? Get away from this ; he’ll be coming in here 
very soon to see me. Run away and play with the chil- 
dren or hide in the china closet — anything but stay 
here.” 

“ I — I must be here while you are managing him,” 
objected Paul. 

“Nonsense!” said Paradine, angrily. “I tell you it 
will spoil all, unless you — who’s that ? it’s his step — too 
late now — dash it all ! Behind that screen, quick — 
don’t move for your life till I tell you you may come 
out ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude had no choice ; there was just time to set 
up an old folding screen which stood in a corner of the 
room and slip behind it before the door opened. 

It might not be the highest wisdom to trust everything 
to his new ally in this manner ; but what else could he 
do, except stand in a forced inactivity while the moment- 
ous duel was being fought out ? Just then, at all events, 
he saw no other course. 


RUN TO EARTH. 


243 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

RUN TO EARTH. 

“ The is noon in this hous schuld bynde me this night* — The Coke’s Tale of 
Gamelyn. 

Dick burst open the door of the billiard room rather 
suddenly, and then stood holding on to the handle and 
smiling down upon his relative in a happy and affectionate 
but rather weak manner. 

“ So here you are ! ” he said. “ Been looking for you 
everywhere. What’s good of shutting ’self in here ? Come 
up and play gamesh. No ? Come in and have shupper. 
I’ve had shupper.” 

“ So I perceive,” observed Uncle Marmaduke ; and the 
fact was certainly obvious enough. 

“ Tell y’ what I did.” giggled the wretched Dick. 
“ You know I never did get what I call regular good blow 
out — always some one to shay ‘ had quite ’nough’ ’fore I’d 
begun. So I thought this time I would have a tuck-in 
till — till I felt tired, and I — he-he-he — I got down ’fore 
anybody elsh and helped myshelf. Had first go-in. No 
one to help to thingsh. No girlsh to bother. It was 
prime ! When they’ve all gone up again you and me’ll go 
in and have shome more, eh ? ”* 

“ You’re a model host,” said his uncle. 

“ It’s a good shupper,” Dick went on. “ I ought to 
know. I’ve had some of everything. It’sh almost too 
good for kids. But it’sh a good thing I went in first. Af- 
ter I’d been in a little time I saw a sponge-cake on the 
table, and when I tried it, what d’ye think I found ? It 
was as full inside of brandy-an’-sherry as it could be. All 
it could do to shtand ! I saw d’rectly it washn’t in con- 
dition come to table, and I said : ‘ Take it away ! take it 
away ! It’sh drunk ; it’sh a disgraceful sight for children ! ’ 
But they wouldn’t take it away ; sho I had to take it a 
way. But you can’t take away a whole tipshy-cake ! ” 


244 


VICE VERSA. 


“ I am quite sure you did your best,” murmured Para- 
dine. 

“ Been having such garnish up stairs ! ” said Dick, with 
another giggle. “That liP Dolly Merridew’s jolly girl. 
Not sho nice as Dulcie, though. Why didn’t we invite 
Dulcie ? I wanted them to invite Dulcie. Here you, let’sh 
go up and let off fireworksh on balcony, eh ? Let’sh have 
jolly lark ! ” 

“ No, no,” said his uncle. “ You and I are too old for 
that sort of thing. You should leave the larks to the 
young fellows.” 

“ How do you know I’m too old for sorterthing ?” said 
Dick, with an offended air. 

“ Well, you’re not a young man any longer, you know. 
You ought to behave like the steady old buffer you 
look.” 

“ Why,” demanded Dick, “ why should I behave like 
shteady ole buffer, when I don’ feel shteady ole buffer ? 
What do you want shpoil fun for ? Tell you what I shall 
do jus’ zackly wharriplease. And, if you shay any more, 
I’ll punch y’ head ! ” 

“ No, no,” said his uncle, slightly alarmed at this inti- 
mation. “ Come, you’re not going to quarrel with me I’m 
sure ! ” 

“ All ri’,” said Dick. “ No ; I won’ quarrel. Don’ wan- 
ter quarrel anybody.” 

“ That’s right,” said Paradine. “ I knew you were a 
noble fellow ! ” 

“ Sho I am,” said Dick, shaking hands with effusion. 
“ Sho are you. Nearly ash noble ’sh me. There, you’re 
jolly good fellow. I say, I’ve goo’ mind tell you something. 
Make you laugh. But I won’t ; not now.” 

“ Oh, you can tell me,” said Marmaduke. “No secrets 
between friends, you know.” 

“ Shan’t tell you now,” said Dick. “ Keep shecret little 
longer.” 

“ Do you know, my friend, that there’s something very 
odd about you I’ve noticed lately ! Something that makes 
me almost fancy sometimes you’re not what you pretend to 
be.” 


RUN TO EARTH. 


245 


Dick sat down heavily on one of the leather benches 
placed against the wall. 

“ Eh, what shay? he gasped. “ Say tharragain.” 

“ You look to me,” said Marmaduke, slowly, “ like some 
one excellently made up for the part of heavy father, with- 
out a notion how to play it. Dick, you young dog, you see 
I know you ! You can’t take me in with all this. You’d 
better tell me all about it.” 

Dick seemed almost sobered by this shock. 

“ You’ve found me out,” he repeated, dully. “ Then it’s 
all up. If you’ve found me out, everybody else can find 
me out ! ” 

“No, no; it’s not so bad as that, my boy. I’ve better 
eyes than most people, and then I had the privilege of 
knowing your excellent father rather well once upon a time. 
You haven’t studied his little peculiarities closely enough ; 
but you’ll improve. By the way, where is your excellent 
father all this time ? ” 

“ He’s all right,” said Dick, beginning to chuckle. “ He- 
he. He’s at school, he is ! ” 

“At school ! You mean to say you’ve put him to school 
at his time of life ? He’s rather old for that sort of thing, 
isn’t he ? They don’t take him on the ordinary terms, do 
they ? ” 

“Ah,” said Dick, “ that’sh where it is. He isn’t old, 

you see, now, to look at. I took care of all that.” 

“ Not old to look at ! -Then how on earth — I should like 
to know how you managed all that. What have you been 
doing to the poor old gentleman ? ” 

“ That’sh my affair,” said Dick. “ An’ if I don’ tell you, 
you won’ find that out, any way.” 

“ There’s only one way you could have done it,” said 
Paradine, pretending to hesitate. “ It must have been 
done by some meddling with magic. Now what — Let me 
see — yes — Surely the stone I brought your poor mother 
from India was given to me as a talisman of some sort ? 
you surely can’t have been sharp enough to get hold of 
that ! ” 

“ How did you know ? cried Dick, sharply, “ Who told 
you ? ” 


246 


VICE VERSA. 


“ I am right, then ? Well, you are a clever fellow. I 
should like to know how you did it, now ? ” 

“ Did it with the shtone,” said Dick, evidently discom- 
posed by such unexpected penetration, but unable to pre- 
vent a little natural complacency. “ All my own idea. 
No one helped me. It — it washn’t sho bad for me, wash 
it?” 

“ Bad ! it was capital,” cried Marmaduke, enthusiasti- 
cally. “ It was a stroke of genius. And so my Indian 
stone has done all this for you. Sounds like an Arabian 
Night, by Jove ! By the by, you don’t happen to have it 
about you, do you ? I should rather like to look at it 
again. It’s a real curiosity after this.” 

Paul trembled with anxiety. Would Dick be induced 
to part with it ? If so, he was saved. But Dick looked at 
his uncle’s outstretched hand, and wagged his head with 
tipsy cunning. 

“I dareshay you would,” he said, “but I’m not sho 
green as all that. Don’t let that stone out of my hands 
for any one.” 

“ Why, I only wanted to look at it for a minute or two,” 
said Marmaduke ; “ I wouldn’t hurt it or lose it.” 

“ You won’ get chance,” said Dick. 

“ Oh, very well,” said Paradine, carelessly, “ just as you 
please, it doesn’t matter ; though, when we come to talk 
things over a little, you may find it better to trust me more 
than that.” 

“ Wha’ do you mean ? ” said Dick, uneasily. 

“ Well, I’ll try to explain as well as I can, my boy 
(drink a little of this soda-water first ; it’s an excellent 
thing after supper) ; there, you’re better now, aren’t you ? 
Now, I’ve found you out, as you see ; but only because I 
knew something of the powers of this stone of yours, and 
guessed the rest. It doesn’t at all follow that other people, 
who know nothing at all, will be as sharp ; if you’re more 
careful about your behavior in future — unless, unless, 
young fellow — ” and here he paused meaningly. 

“ Unless what ? ” asked Dick, suspiciously. 

“ Unless I chose to tell them what I’ve found out.” 

“ What would you tell them ? ” said Dick. 

“ What ? Why, what I know of this talisman ; tell them 


RUN TO EARTH. 


247 


to use their eyes ; they wouldn’t be very long before they 
found out that something was wrong. And when one or 
two of your father’s friends once get hold of the idea, 
your game will be very soon over ; you know that as well 
as I do.” 

“ But,” stammered Dick, “ you wouldn’t go and do 
beastly mean thing like that ? I’ve not been bad fellow to 
you.” 

“ The meanness, my dear boy, depends entirely upon 
the view you take of it. Now, the question with me, as a 
man of honor — and I may tell you an over-nice sense of 
honor has been a drawback I’ve had to struggle against all 
my life — the question with me is this : Is it not my plain 
duty to step in and put a stop to this topsy-turvy state of 
things, to show you up as the bare-faced young impostor 
you are, and restore my unhappy brother-in-law to his 
proper position ? ” 

“ Very well expressed,” thought Paul, who had been 
getting uncomfortable ; “ he has a heart, as he said, after 
all ! ” 

“ How does that seem to strike you ? ” added Paradine. 

“ It shtrikes me as awful rot,” said Dick, with refresh- 
ing candor. 

“ It’s the language of conscience, but I don’t expect you 
to see it in the same light. I don’t mind confessing to 
you, either, that I’m a poor devil to whom money and a 
safe and respectable position (all of which I have here) 
are great considerations. But whenever I see the finger 
of duty and honor, and family affection, all beckoning me 
along a particular road, I make a point of obeying their 
monitions — occasionally. I don’t mean to say that I never 
have bolted down a back way, instead, when it was made 
worth my while, or that I never will.” 

“ I wonder what he’s driving at now,” thought Paul. 

“ I don’t know about duty and honor, and all that,” said 
Dick. “ My head aches ; it’s the noise they’re making up 
stairs. Are you goin’ to tell ? ” 

“ The fact is, my dear boy, that when one has had a 
keen sense of honor in constant use for several years, 
it’s like iflost other articles — apt to become a little the 
worse for wear. Mine is not what it used to be, Dicky 


24S 


VICE VERSA . 


(that’s your name, isn’t it ?). Our powers fail as we grow 
old.” 

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about ! ” said Dick, 
helplessly. “ Do tell me what you mean to do ? ” 

“Well, then, your head’s clear enough to understand 
this much, I hope,” said Paradine, a little impatiently : 
“ that, if I did my duty and exposed you, you wouldn’t be 
able to keep up the farce for a single hour, in 
spite of all your personal advantages ; you know r that, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ I shpose I know that,” said Dick, feebly. 

“ You know, too, that if I could be induced — mind, 
I don’t say I can — to hold my tongue, and stay on here 
and look after, you, and keep you from betraying your- 
self by any more of these schoolboy follies, there’s not 
much fear that any one else will ever find out the 
secret — ” 

“ Which are you going to do, then ? ” said Dick. 

“ Suppose I say that I like you, that you have shown 
me more kindness in a single week than ever your re- 
spectable father has since I first made his acquaintance. 
Suppose I say that I am willing to let the sense of honor 
and duty, and all the rest of it, go overboard together ; 
that we two together are a match for papa, wherever 
he may be, and whatever he chooses to say and do ? ” 

There was a veiled defiance in his voice that seemed 
meant for more than Dick, and alarmed Mr. Bultitude ; 
however, he tried to calm his uneasiness, and persuade 
himself that it was part of the plot. 

“ Will you say that ? ” cried Dick, excitedly. 

“ On one condition, which I’ll tell you by and by. 
Yes, I’ll stand by you, my boy; I’ll coach you till I 
make you a man of business every bit as good as your 
father, and a much better man of the world. I’ll show 
you how to realize a colossal fortune, if you only take 
my advice. And we’ll pack papa off to some place 
abroad where he’ll have no holidays and give no 
trouble.” 

“ No,” said Dick, firmly ; “ I won’t have that. After all 
he’s my governor.” 

“ Do what you like with him, then ; he can’t do much 


RUN TO EARTH. 


249 


harm. I tell you, I’ll do all this, on one condition — it’s a 
very simple one — ” 

“ What is it ?” asked Dick. 

“This. You have, somewhere or other, the Stone that 
has done all this for you — you may have it about you at 
this very moment — ah ! ” (as Dick made a sudden move- 
ment toward his white waistcoat) “ I thought so ! Well, 
I want that Stone. You were afraid to leave it in my 
hands for a minute or two just now ; you must trust me 
with it altogether.” 

Paul was relieved ; of course this was merely an artifice 
to recover the Garudi Stone, and Marmaduke was not 
playing him false after all ; he waited breathlessly for 
Dick’s answer. 

“ No,” said Dick, “ I can’t do that ; I want it, too.” 

“ Why, man, what use is it to you ? It only gives you 
one wish ; you can’t use it again.” 

Dick mumbled something about his being ill, and Bar- 
bara wishing him well again. 

“ I suppose that I can do that as well as Barbara,” said 
his uncle. “ Come, don’t be obstinate ; give me the 
Stone ; it’s very important that it should be in safe 
hands.” 

“ No,” said Dick, obstinately ; he was fumbling all the 
time irresolutely in his pockets ; “ I mean to keep it my- 
self.” 

“Very well, then, I have done with you. To-morrow 
morning I shall step up to Mincing Lane, and then to your 
father’s solicitor. I think his offices are in Bedford Row, 
but I can easily find out your father’s place. After that, 
young man, you’ll have a very short time to amuse your- 
self in, so make the best of it.” 

“ No, don’t leave me ; let me alone for a minute,” 
pleaded Dick, still fumbling. 

At this a sudden suspicion of his brother-in-law’s mo- 
tives for wishing to get the Stone into his own hands over- 
came all Paul’s prudence. If he was so clever in deceiv- 
ing Dick, might he not be cheating him, too, just as com- 
pletely? He could wait* no longer, but burst from behind 
the screen and rushed in between the pair. 


250 


VICE VERSA. 


“ Go back ! ” screamed Paradine. “ You infernal old 
idiot, you’ve ruined everything ! ” 

“ I won’t go back,” said Paul. “ I don’t believe in 
you. I’ll hide no longer. Dick, I forbid you to trust that 
man.” 

Dick had risen in horror at the sudden apparition, 
and staggered back against the wall, where he stood 
staring stupidly at his unfortunate father with fixed and 
vacant eyes. 

“ Badly as you’ve treated me, I’d rather trust you than 
that shifty, plausible fellow there. Just look at me, Dick, 
and then say if you can let this cruelty go on. If 
you knew all I’ve suffered since I have been among 
those infernal boys, you would pity me, you would indeed. 

. . . If you send me back there again it will kill me. 

You know as well as I do that it is worse for me than ever 
it could be for you. . . . You can’t really justify 

yourself because of a thoughtless wish of mine, spoken 
without the least intention of being taken at my word. 
Dick, I may not have shown as much affection for you as 
I might have done, but I don’t think I deserve all this. 
Be generous with me now, and I swear you will never 
regret it.” 

Dick’s lips moved ; there really was something like pity 
and repentance in his face, muddled and dazed as his 
general expression was by his recent over-indulgence, but 
he said nothing. 

“ Give papa the Stone by all means,” sneered Para- 
dine. “ If you do, he will find some one to wish the 
pair of you back again, and then, back you go to school 
again, the laughing-stock of everybody, you silly young 
cub ! ” 

“ Don’t listen to him, Dick,” urged Paul. “ Give it to 
me, for heaven’s sake ; if you let him have it, he’ll use it 
to ruin us all.” 

But Dick turned his white face to the rival claimants, 
and said, getting the words out with difficulty : “ Papa, 
I’m shorry. It’s a shame. If I had the Shtone, I really 
would give it you, upon my word-an’-honor I would. But 
— but, now I can’t ever give it up to you. It’sh gone. 
Losht !’” 


RUN TO EARTH. 


2 5 l 


“ Lost ! ” cried Marmaduke. “ When, where ? When 
do you last recollect seeing it ? You must know ? ” 

“ In the morning,” said Dick, twirling his chain, where 
part of the cheap gilt fastening still hung. 

“ No ; afternoon. I don’t know,” he added helplessly. 

Paul sank down on a chair with a heart-broken groan. 
A moment ago he had felt himself very near his goal ; he 
had regained something of his old influence over Dick ; 
he had actually managed to touch his heart — and now it 
was all in vain ! 

Paradine’s jaw fell ; he, too, had had his dreams of 
doing wonderful things with the talisman after he had ca- 
joled Dick to part with it. Whether the restoration of his 
brother-in-law formed any part of his programme, it is 
better, perhaps, not to inquire. His dreams were scat- 
tered now ; the Stone might be anywhere — buried in Lon- 
don mud, lying on railway ballast, or ground to powder by 
cart-wheels, There was little chance, indeed, that even 
the most liberal rewards would lead to discovery. He 
swore long and comprehensively. 

As for Mr. Bultitude, he sat motionless in his chair, 
staring in dull, speechless reproach at the conscience- 
stricken Dick, who stood in the corner blinking and whim- 
pering with an abject penitence, odd and painful to see in 
one of his portly form. The children had now apparently 
finished supper, for there were sounds above as of dancing, 
and “ Sir Roger de Coverley,” with its rollicking, never- 
wearying repetition, was distinctly audible above the din 
and laughter. Once before — a week ago that very day — 
had that heartless piano mocked him with its untimely 
gayety. 

But things were not at their worst even yet, for, while 
they sat like this, there was a sharp, short peal at the 
house-bell, followed by loud and rather angry knocking, 
for, carriages being no longer expected, the servants and 
waiters had now closed the front-door, and left the passage 
for the supper-room. 

“ The visitors’ bell ! ” cried Paul, roused from his 
apathy ; and he rushed to the window which commanded 
a side-view of the portico : it might be only a servant 


252 


VICE VERSA. 


calling for one of the children, but he feared the worst, 
and could not rest till he knew it. 

It was a rash thing to do, for, as he drew the blind, he 
saw a large person in a heavy Inverness cloak standing on 
the steps, and (which was worse) the person saw him and 
recognized him. 

With fascinated horror, Mr. Bultitude saw the doctor’s 
small gray eyes fixed angrily on him, and knew that he 
was hunted down at last. 

He turned to the other two with a sort of ghastly com- 
posure : “ It’s all over now,” he said. I’ve just seen Dr. 
Grimstone standing on my door-step ; he has come after 
me.” 

Uncle Marmaduke gave a malicious little laugh. “ I’m 
sorry for you, my friend,” he said, “but I really car/* 
help it.” 

“ You can,” said Paul : “ you can tell him wha,t you 
know. You can save me.” 

“Very poor economy that,” said Marmaduke, airily. “ I 
prefer spending to saving — always did. I h?ve my own 
interests to consider, my dear Paul.” 

“ Dick,” said poor Mr. Bultitude, disgusted at this exhi- 
bition of selfishness, “you said you were sorry just now. 
Will you tell him the truth ? ” 

But Dick was quite unnerved ; he cowered away, almost 
crying. “ I daren’t, I daren’t,” he stammered ; “ I — I 
can’t go back to the fellows with this. I’m afraid to tell 
him. I — I want to hide somewhere.” 

And certainly he was in no condition to convince an 
angry schoolmaster of anything whatever, except that 
he was in a state very unbecoming to the head of a 
family. 

It was all over ; Paul saw that too well ; he dashed 
frantically from the fatal billiard-room, and in the hall 
met Boaler preparing to admit the visitor. 

“ Don’t open the door ! ” he screamed. “ Keep him 
out, you mustn’t let him in. It’s Dr. Grimstone.” 

Boaler, surprised as he naturally was at his young mas- 
ter’s unaccountable appearance and evident panic, never- 
theless never moved a muscle of his face ; he was one of 
those perfectly bred servants who, if they chanced to 


RUN TO EARTH. 


253 


open the door to a ghoul or skeleton, would merely in- 
quire, “ What name, if you please ? ” 

“ I must go and ask your par, then, Master Dick ; 
there’s time to ’00k it up stairs while I’m gone, I won’t 
say nothing,” he added, compassionately. 

Paul lost no time in following this suggestion, but rushed 
up stairs, two or three steps at the time, stumbling at 
every flight, with a hideous nightmare feeling that some 
invisible thing behind was trying to trip up his heels. 

He rushed blindly past the conservatory, which was lit 
up by Chinese lanterns, and crowded with “ little Kate 
Greenaway ” maidens crowned with fantastic head-dresses 
out of the crackers, and comparing presents with boy- 
lovers ; he upset perspiring waiters with glasses and trays, 
and scattered the children sitting on the stairs, as he 
bounded on in his reckless flight, leaving crashes of glass 
behind him. 

He had no clear idea of what he meant to do; he 
thought of barricading himself in his bedroom and hiding 
in the wardrobe ; he had desperate notions of getting on 
to the housetop by means of a step-ladder and the sky- 
light above the nursery landing ; on one point he was re- 
solved — he would not be retaken alive ! 

Never before in this commonplace London world of 
ours was an unfortunate householder hunted up his own 
staircase in this distressing manner ; even his terror did 
not blind him to the extreme ignominy and injustice of his 
position. 

And below he heard the bell ringing more and more 
impatiently, as the doctor still remained on the wrong side 
of the door. In another minute he must be admitted — 
and then ! 

Who will not sympathize with Mr. Bultitude as he ap- 
proaches the crisis of his misfortunes ? I protest, for my 
own part, that, as I am compelled to describe him spring- 
ing from step to step in wild terror, like a highly respecta- 
ble chamois before some Alpine marksman, my own heart 
bleeds for him, and I hasten to end my distressing tale, 
and make the rest of it as little painful as I may with 
honesty. 


/ 

VICE VERSA. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE RECKONING. 

“ Montr. The father is victorious. 

Belf. Let us haste 

To gratulate his conquest, 
ist Capt. We to mourn 

The fortune of the son,” 

Massinger, The UnnaHiral Combat. 

Poor Mr. Bultitude, springing wildly up stairs in a last 
desperate effort to avoid capture, had now almost reached 
his goal. Just above him was the nursery landing, with its 
little wooden gate, and near it, leaning against the wall, 
was the pair of kitchen steps, with which he had hopes of 
reaching the roof, or the cistern loft, or some other safe 
and inaccessible place. Better a night spent on the slates 
among the chimney-pots than a bed in that terrible No. 6 
Dormitory, 

But here, too, fate was against him. He was not more 
than half a dozen steps from the top when, to his unspeak- 
able horror he saw a small form in a white frock and car- 
dinal red sash come running out of the nursery, and begin 
to descend slowly and cautiously, clinging to the banisters 
with one chubby little hand. 

It was his youngest son, Roly, and as soon as he saw 
this he lost hope once and for all ; he could not escape 
being recognized ; the child would probably refuse to 
leave him, and, even if he did contrive to get away from 
him, it would be hopeless to make Roly understand that 
he was not to betray his hiding-place. 

So he stopped on the stairs, aghast at this new misfor- 
tune, and feeling himself at the end of all his resources. 
Roly knew him at once, and began to dance delightedly 
up and down on the stair in his little bronze shoes. “ Buz- 
zer Dicky,” he cried, “ dear buzzer Dicky, turn ’ome to 
party ! ” 


THE RECKONING . 


255 


“ It’s not brother Dicky/’ said Paul, miserably, “ it’s all 
a mistake.” 

“ Oh, but it is, though,” said Roly ; “ and you don’t 
know what Roly’s found.” 

“ No, no,” said Paul, trying to pass (which, as Roly per- 
sisted in leaping joyously from side to side of the narrow 
stair, was difficult) ; “ you shall show me another time. 
I’m in a hurry, my boy ; I’ve got an appointment.” 

“ Roly’s got something better than that,” observed the 
child. 

Mr. Bultitude, in spite of his terror, was too much afraid 
of hurting him by brushing roughly past to attempt^ such a 
thing, so he tried diplomacy. “ Well, what has Roly found, 
a cracker ? ” 

“ No, no, better than a cwacker — you guess.” 

“ I can’t guess,” said Paul ; “ never mind, I don’t want 
to know.” 

“ Well, then,” said Roly, “ there.” And he slowly un- 
closed a fat little fist, and in it Paul saw, with a revulsion 
of feeling that turned him dizzy and faint, the priceless 
talisman itself, the identical Garuda Stone, with part of 
the frail gilt ring still attached to it. 

The fastening had probably given way during Master 
Dick’s uproarious revels in the drawing-room, and Roly 
must have picked it up on the carpet shortly afterward. 

“ Isn’t it a pitty sing ? ” said Roly, insisting that his 
treasure should be duly admired. 

“ A very pretty thing,” said his father, hoarse and pant- 
ing ; “ but it’s mine, Roly, its mine.” 

And he tried to snatch it, but Roly closed his fist over it 
and pouted. “ It isn’t yours,” he said, “it’s Roly’s. Roly 
found it.” 

Paul’s fears rose again ; would he be wrecked in port, 
after all ? His" ear, unnaturally strained, caught the sound 
of the front door being opened ; he heard the doctor’s 
deep voice booming faintly below, then the noise of per- 
sons ascending. 

“ Roly shall have it then,” he said, perfidiously, “ if he 
will say after me what I tell him. Say, ‘ I wish papa and 
brother Dick back as they were before,’ Roly.” 

*• Ith it a game ? ” asked Roly, his face clearing and 


256 


VICE VERSA . 


evidently delighted with his eccentric brother Dick, who 
had run all the way home from school to play games with 
him on the- staircase. 

“ No — yes ! ” cried Paul, “ it’s a very funny game ; only 
do what I tell you. Now say; ‘ I wish papa and brother 
Dick back again as they were before.’ I’ll give you a 
sugar-plum if you say it nicely.” 

“ What sort of sugar-plum ? ” demanded Roly, who in- 
herited business instincts. 

“ Any sort you like best,” almost shrieked Paul ; “ oh, 
do get on.” 

“ Lots of sugar-plums, then. ‘ I with ’ — I forget what 
you told me — oh, ‘ I with papa and — ’ there’th thomebody 
tumming up sthairs ! ” he broke off suddenly ; “ it’h nurth 
tummin to put me to bed. I don’t want to go to bed yet.” 

“ And you shan’t go to bed ! ” cried Paul, for he, too, 
thought he heard some one. “ Never mind nurse ; finish 
the — the game.” 

“ ‘ Papa and buzzy Dicky back again as — as they were 
before,’ ” repeated Roly at last. “ What a funny — ow, ow, 
it’h papa ! it’h papa ! and he told me it wath Dicky. I’m 
afraid. Whereth Dicky gone to ? I want Bab, take me 
to Bab.” 

For the Stone had done its work once more, and this 
time with happier results ; with a supreme relief and joy, 
which no one who has read this book can fail to under- 
stand, Mr. Bultitude felt that he actually was his old self 
again. 

Just when all hope seemed cut off and relief was most 
unlikely, the magic spell that had caused him such intol- 
erable misery for one hideous week was reversed by the 
hand of his innocent child. 

He caught Roly up in his arms and kissed him as he 
had never been kissed in his life before, at least by his 
father, and comforting him as well as he could, for the 
poor child had naturally received rather a severe shock, 
he stepped airily down the staircase, which he had 
mounted with such different emotions five minutes 
before. 

On his way he could not resist going into his dressing- 
room and assuring himself by a prolonged examination 


THE RECKONING . 


257 


before the cheval-glass that the stone had not played him 
some last piece of jugglery ; but he found everything quite 
correct ; he was the same formal, precise and portly old 
gentleman, wearing the same morning dress even as on 
that other Monday evening, and he went on with greater 
confidence. 

He took care, however, to stop at the first window, 
when he managed, after some coaxing, to persuade Roly to 
give up the Garud& Stone. As soon as he had it in his 
hands again, he opened the window wide and flung the 
dangerous talisman far out into the darkness. Not till 
then did he feel perfectly secure. 

He passed the groups of little guests gathered about 
the conservatory, and lower down he met Boalerr, the 
nurse, and one or two servants and waiters, rushing up in 
a state of great anxiety and flurry ; even Boaler’s usual 
composure seemed shaken. “ Please, sir,” he asked, 
“ the schoolmaster gentlemen, Master Dick — he’ve run 
up stairs ; haven’t you seen him ? ” 

Paul had almost forgotten Dick in his new happiness ; 
there would be a heavy score to settle with him ; he had 
the upper hand once more, and yet, somehow, he did not 
feel as much righteous wrath and desire for revenge as he 
expected to. 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” he said, waving them back with 
more benignity than they thought he had in him. “ Mas- 
ter Dick is safe enough. I know all about it. Where is 
Dr. Grimstone ? In the library, eh ? very well, I will see 
him there.” 

And, leaving Roly with the nurse, he went down to the 
library ; not, if the truth must be told, without a slight de- 
gree of nervousness, unreasonable and unaccountable 
enough now, but quite beyond his power to control. 

He entered the room, and there, surrounded by piles of 
ticketed hats and coats, under the pale light of one gas- 
burner, he saw the terrible man before whom he had 
trembled for the last seven horrible days. 

A feeling of self-defense made Paul assume rather more 
than his old stiffness as he shook hands. “ I am very 
glad to see you, Dr. Grimstone,” he said, ‘.‘but your 
coming at this time forces me to ask if there is any un- 
17 


258 


VICE VERSA. 


usual reason for — for my having the — a — pleasure of 
seeing you here.” 

“ I am exceedingly distressed to have to say that there 
is,” said the doctor, solemnly, “ or I should not have 
troubled you at this hour. Try to compose yourself, my 
dear sir, to bear this blow.” 

“ I will,” said Paul, “ I will try.” 

“ The fact is, then, and I know how sad a story it must 
be for a parent’s ear, but the fact is, that your unhappy 
boy has had the inconceivable rashness to quit my roof.” 
And the doctor paused to watch the effect of his 
announcement. 

“ God bless my soul ! ” cried Paul. “ You don’t 
say so ! ” 

“ I do indeed ; he has, in short, run away, But don’t 
be alarmed, my dear Mr. Bultitude ; I think I can assure 
you he is quite safe at the present moment.” (“ Thank 
heaven he is ! ” thought Paul thinking of his own mar- 
velous escape). “ I should certainly have recaptured him 
before he could have left the railway station, where he 
seems to have gone at once, only, acting on information 
(which I strongly suspect now was intentionally mis- 
leading), I drove on to the station on the up-line, thinking 
to find him there. He was not there, sir ; I believe he 
never went there at all ; but, guessing how matters were, I 
searched the train, carriage by carriage, compartment by 
compartment, when it came up.” 

“ I am very sorry you should have had so much 
trouble,” said Paul with a vivid recollection of the explor- 
ing stick ; “ and so you found him ? ” 

“ No, sir,” said the doctor, passionately, “ I did not find 
him, but he was there ; he must have been there ! but the 
shameless connivance of two excessively ill-bred persons, 
who positively refused to allow me access to their com- 
partment, caused him to slip through my fingers.” 

Mr. Bultitude observed, rather ungratefully, that, if 
this was so, it was a most improper thing for them to do. 

“ It was, indeed, but it is of no consequence, fortu- 
nately. I was forced to wait for the next train ; but that 
was not a very slow one, and so I was able to come on 


THE RECKONING . 


259 


here before a very late hour and acquaint you with what 
had taken place.” 

“ Thank you very much,” said Paul. 

“ It’s a painful thing to occur in a school,” observed 
the doctor, after a pause. 

“ Most unfortunate,” agreed Paul, coughing. 

“ So apt to lead persons who are not acquainted with 
the facts to imagine that the boy was unhappy under my 
care,” continued the doctor. 

“ In this case, I assure you, I have no doubts,” pro- 
tested Paul with politeness and (seldom a possible combi- 
nation) perfect truth. 

“ Very kind of you to say so ; really, it’s a great mys- 
tery to me. I certainly, as I felt it my duty to inform 
you at the time, came very near inflicting corporal punish- 
ment upon him this morning — very near. But then he 
was pardoned on your intercession ; and, besides, the boy 
would never have run away for fear of a flogging.” 

“ Oh, no, perfectly absurd ! ” agreed Paul again. 

“ Such a merry, high-spirited lad, too,” said the doctor, 
sincerely enough ; popular with his schoolfellows ; a fa- 
vorite (in spite of his faults) with his teachers.” 

“ No, was he though ? ” said Paul, with more surprise, 
for he had not been fortunate enough to reap much vica- 
rious benefit from his son’s popularity, as he could not help 
remembering. 

“ All this, added to the comforts (or, may I say the lux- 
uries ?) he enjoyed under my supervision, does make it 
seem very strange and ungrateful in a boy to take this 
sudden and ill-considered step.” 

“ Very, indeed ; but do you know, Dr. Grimstone, I 
can’t help thinking — and pray do not misunderstand me if 
I speak plainly — that, perhaps, he had reasons for being 
unhappy you can have no idea of ? ” 

“ He would have found me ready to hear complaints 
and prompt to redress them, sir,” said the doctor. “ But, 
now I think of it, he certainly did appear to have some- 
thing on his mind which he wished to tell me ; but his 
manner was so strange, and he so persistently refused to 
come to the point, that I was forced to discourage him at 
last/ 1 


26 o 


VICE VERSA. 


“ You did discourage him, indeed ! ” said Paul, inwardly, 
thinking of those attempted confidences with a shudder. 
“ Perhaps some of his schoolfellows may have — eh ? ” he 
said aloud. 

“ My dear sir,” exclaimed the doctor, “ quite out of the 
question ! ” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said Paul, not being able to resist 
the suggestion. “ And yet, do you know, some of them 
did not appear to me to look very — very good-natured, 
now.” 

“ A more manly, pleasant, and gentlemanly set of youths 
never breathed ! ” said the doctor, taking up the cudgels 
for his boys, and, to do him justice, probably with full 
measure of belief in his statement. “ Curious now that 
they should have struck you so differently ! ” 

“ They certainly did strike me very differently,” said 
Paul. “ But I may be mistaken.” 

“ You are, my dear sir. And, pardon me, but you had 
no opportunity of testing your opinion.” 

“Oh, pardon me,” retorted Paul, grimly, “I had, 
indeed ! ” 

“ A cursory visit,” said the doctor, “ a formal inspec- 
tion — you cannot fairly judge boys by that. They will 
naturally be reserved and constrained in the presence of 
an elder. But you should observe them without their 
knowledge — you want to know them, my dear Mr. Bulti- 
tude, you want to go among them ! ” 

It was the very last thing Paul did want — he knew 
them quite well enough ; but it was of no use to say so, 
and he merely assented politely. 

“ And now,” said the doctor, “ with regard to your mis- 
guided boy. I have to tell you that he is here, in this 
very house. I tracked him here, and, ten minutes ago, 
saw him with my own eyes at one of your windows.” 

“ Here ! ” cried Paul, with a well-executed start ; “ you 
astonish me ! ” 

“ It has occurred to me within the last minute,” said the 
doctor, “ that there may be a very simple explanation of 
his flight. I observe you are giving a — a juvenile enter- 
tainment on a large scale.” 


THE RECKONING. 


261 


“ I suppose I am,” Paul admitted. “ And ' so you 
think — ? ” 

“ I think that your son, who doubtless knew of your 
intention, was hurt at being excluded from the festivities, 
and, in a fit of mad, willful folly, resolved to be present at 
them, in spite of you.” 

“ My dear doctor,” cried Paul, who saw the conveniences 
of this theory, “ that must be it, of course — that explains 
it all ! ” 

“ So grave an act of insubordination,” said the doctor, 
“ an act of double disobedience — to your authority and 
mine — deserves the fullest punishment. You agree with 
me, I trust ? ” 

The memory of his wrongs overcame Mr. Bultitude for 
the moment. “ Nothing can be too bad for the little 
scoundel ! ” he said, between his teeth. 

“ He shall have it, sir, I swear to you ; he shall be made 
to repent this as long as he lives. This insult to me (and, 
of course, to you also) shall be amply atoned for. It you 
will have the goodness to deliver him over to my hands, I 
will carry him back at once to Rodwell Regis, and 
to-morrow, sir, to-morrow, I will endeavor to awaken his 
conscience in a way he will remember ! ” 

The doctor was more angry than an impartial lover of 
justice might approve of, but then it must be remembered 
that he had seen himself completely outwitted and 
his authority set at naught in a very humiliating fashion. 

“ However, his excessive wrath cooled Paul’s own 
resentment instead of inflaming it ; it made him reflect 
that, after all, it was he who had the best right to be 
angry. 

“ Well,” he said, rather coldly, “ we must find him first, 
and then consider what shall be done to him. If you will 
allow me, I will ring and — ” 

But before he could lay his hand upon the bell the 
library door opened, and Uncle Marmaduke made his ap- 
pearance, dragging with him the unwilling Dick ; the un- 
fortunate boy was effectually sobered now, pale and trem- 
bling and besmirched with coal-dust — in fact, in very 
much the same plight as his ill-used father had been in 
only three hours ago. 


262 


VICE VERSA. 


There was a brazen smile of triumph on Mr. Paradine’s 
face as he met Paul’s eyes with a knowing wink, which the 
latter did not at all understand. 

Such audacity astonished him, for he could hardly 
believe that Paradine, after his perfidious conduct in the 
billiard-room, could have the clumsy impudence to try to 
propitiate him now. 

“ Here he is, my boy,” shouted Paradine ; “ here’s the 
scamp who has given us all this trouble. He came into 
the billiard-room just now and told me who he was, but I 
would have nothing to do with him, of course. Not my 
business, as I told him at the time. Then (I think I have 
the pleasure of seeing Dr. Grimstone ? just so) — well, then 
you, sir, arrived — and he made himself scarce. But when 
I saw him in the act of making a bolt up the area, where 
he had been taking shelter apparently in the coal-cellar, I 
thought it was time to interfere, and so I collared him. I 
have much pleasure in handing him over now to the proper 
authorities.” 

And, letting Dick go, he advanced toward his brother- 
in-law, still with the same odd expression of having a 
secret understanding with him, which made Paul’s blood 
boil. 

“ Stand where you are, sir,” said Paul to his son. “ No, 
Dr. Grimstone, allow me — leave him to me for the present, 
please.” 

“ That’s much better,” whispered Paradine, approvingly ; 
“ capital. Keep it up, my boy ; keep it up ! Papa’s as 
quiet as a lamb now. Go on.” 

Then Paul understood ; his worthy brother-in-law had 
not been present at the last transformation, and was 
under a slight misapprehension : he evidently imagined 
that he had by this last stroke made himself and 
Dick masters of the situation ; it was time to undeceive 
him. 

“ Have the goodness to leave my house at once, will 
you ! ” he said sternly. 

“You young fool ! ” said Marmaduke, under his breath, 
“ after all I have done for you, too ! Is this your gratitude ? 
You know you can’t get on without me. Take care 
what you’re about.” 


THE RECKONING . 


263 


“ If you can’t see that the tables are turned at last,” 
said Paul, slowly, “ you’re a duller knave than I take you 
to be.” 

Marmaduke started back with an oath. “ It’s a trick,” 
he said, savagely ; “ you want to get rid of me.” 

“ I certainly intend to,” said Paul. “ Are you satisfied ? 
Do you want proofs — shall I give them — I did just now in 
the billiard-room ? ” 

Paradine went to Dick and shook him angrily. “You 
young idiot ! ” he said, in a furious aside, “ why didn’t you 
tell me ? Why did you let me make a fool of myself like 
this for, eh ? ” 

“ I did tell you,” muttered Dick, “ only you wouldn’t 
listen. It just serves you right ! ” 

Marmaduke soon collected himself after this unexpected 
shock; he tried to shake Paul’s hands with an airy 
geniality. “ Only my little joke,” he said, laughing ; “ ha, 
ha, I thought I should take you in ! . . . Why, I 

knew it directly. . . . I’ve been working for you all 

the time — but it wouldn’t have done to let you see my 
line.” 

“ No,” said Paul ; “ it was not a very straight one, as 
usual.” 

“ Well,” said Marmaduke, “ I shouldn’t have stopped 
Master Dick there if I hadn’t been on your side, should I 
now ? I knew you’d come out of it all right, but I had a 
difficult game to play, don’t you know ? I don’t wonder 
that you didn’t follow me just at first.” 

“ You’ve lost your game,” said Paul ; “ it’s no use to 
say any more. So now, perhaps you’ll go ? ” 

“ Go, eh ? ” said Paradine, without showing much sur- 
prise at the failure of so very forlorn a hope ; “ oh, 
very well, just as you please, of course. Let your poor 
wife’s only brother go from your doors without a penny in 
the world ; but I warn you that a trifle or so laid out in 
stopping my mouth would not be thrown away. Some 
editors would be glad enough of a sensation from real life 
just now, and I could tell some very odd tales about this 
little affair ! ” 

“ Tell them, if a character for sanity is of no further 
use to you,” said Paul. “ Tell them to any one you can 


264 


VICE VERSA. 


get to believe you — tell the crossing-sweeper and the 
policemen, tell your grandmother, tell the horse-marines — 
it will amuse them. Only, you shall tell them on the other 
side of my front door. Shall I call any one to show you 
out ? ” 

Paradine saw his game was really played out, and swag- 
gered insolently to the door. “Not on my account, I 
beg,” he said. “ Good-by, Paul, my boy ; no more dis- 
solving views ! Good-by, my young friend Richard ; it 
was good fun while it lasted, eh ? like the Servian crown 
— always a pleasant reminiscence ! Good-evening to you, 
doctor. By the way, for educational purposes let me 
recommend a ‘ Penang lawyer ’ — buy one as you go back 
for the boys — to show them you’ve been thinking of 
them ! ” 

And, having little luggage to impede him, the front 
door closed upon him shortly afterward — this time for- 
ever. 

When he had gone, Dick looked imploringly at his 
father, and then at the doctor, who, until Paradine’s part- 
ing words had lashed him into fury again, had been exam- 
ining the engravings on the walls with a studied delicacy 
during the recent painful scene, and was now leaning 
against the chimney-piece, with his arms folded and a 
sepulchral gloom on his brow. 

“ Richard,” said Mr. Bultitude, in answer to the look, 
“ you have not done much to deserve consideration at my 
hands.” 

“ Or at mine ! ” added the doctor, ominously. 

“ No,” said Dick, “ I know I haven’t. I’ve been a 
brute. I deserve a jolly good licking.” 

“ You do,” said his father, but, in spite of his indigna- 
tion, the broken-down look of the boy and the memories 
of his own sensations when waiting to be caned that 
morning, moved him to pity. And then Dick had shown 
some compunction in the billiard-room : he was not 
entirely lost to feeling ! 

“ Well r ” he said, at last, “ you’ve acted very wrongly. 
Because I thought it best that you should not — ahem — 
leave your studies for this party, you chose to disobey me 


THE RECKONING. 265 

and alarm your master, by defying my orders and coming 
home by stealth — that was your object, I presume ? ” 

“ Y — yes,” said Dick, looking rather puzzled, but seeing 
that he was expected to agree ; “ that was it.” 

“ You know as well as I do what good cause I have to 
be angry ; but, if I consent to overlook your conduct this 
time, if I ask Dr. Grimstone to overlook it, too ”(the doctor 
made an inarticulate protest, while Dick started, incredu- 
lous), “will you undertake to behave better for the 
future — will you ? ” 

Dick’s voice broke at this, and his eyes swam — he was 
effectually conquered. “ Oh, I will ! ” he cried, “ I will, 
really. I never meant to go so far when I began.” 

“ Then, Dr. Grimstone,” said Paul, “ you will do me a 
great favor if you will take no further notice of this. 
You see the boy is sorry, and I am sure he will apologize 
to you amply for the grave slight he has done you. And, 
by the way — I should have mentioned it before — but he 
will have to leave your care at the end of the term for a 
public school — I intend to send him to Harrow — so he will 
require some additional preparation, perhaps : I may leave 
that in your hands ? ” 

Dr. Grimstone looked deeply offended, but he only said, 
“ I will see to that myself, my dear sir. I am sorry you 
did not tell me this earlier. But, may I suggest that a 
large public school has its pitfalls for a boy of your son’s 
disposition. And I trust this leniency may not have evil 
consequences, but I doubt it — I greatly doubt it.” 

As for Dick, he ran to his father and hung gratefully on 
to his arm with a remorseful hug, a thing he had never 
dared to do, or thought of attempting, in his life till then. 

“ Papa,” he said, in a choked voice, “ you’re a brick ! I 
don’t deserve any of it, but I’ll never forget this as long as 
I live. 

Mr. Bultitude, too, felt something spring up in his heart 
which drew him toward the boy in an altogether novel 
manner, but no one will say that either was the worse 
for it. 

“ Well,” he said, mildly, “ prove to me that I have 
made no mistake. Go back to Crichton House now, 
work and play well, and try to keep out of mischief for 


266 


VICE VERSA . 


the rest of the term. I trust to you,” he added in a lower 
tone, “ While you remain at Rodwell Regis, to keep my — 
my connection with it a secret ; you owe that at least to 
me. You may probably have — ahem, some incon- 
veniences to put up with — inconveniences you are not 
prepared for. You must bear them as your punishment.” 

And soon afterward a cab was called, and Dr. Grim- 
stone prepared to return to Rodwell Regis, with the 
deserter, by the last train. 

As Paul shook hands through the cab-window with his 
prodigal son, he repeated his warning. “ Mind,” he said, 
“ you have been at school all this past week ; you have 
run away to attend this party, you understand ? Good-by, 
my boy, and here's something to put in your pocket, and 
— and another for Jolland; but he need not know it 
comes from me.” And when Dick opened his hand after- 
ward, he found two half-sovereigns in it. 

So the cab rolled away, and Paul went up to the draw- 
ing-room, where, although he certainly allowed the fire- 
works on the balcony and in the garden to languish for- 
gotten on their sticks, he led all the other revels up to an 
advanced hour with a jovial abandon quite worthy of Dick, 
and none of his little guests ever suspected the change 
of hosts. 

When it was all over, and the sleepy children had 
driven off, Paul sat down in an easy chair by the bright 
fire, which sparkled frostily in his bedroom, to think 
gratefully over all the events of the day — events which 
were beginning already to take an unreal and fantastic 
shape. 

Bitterly as he had suffered, and in spite of the just anger 
and thirst for revenge with which he had returned, I am 
glad to say he did not regret the spirit of mildness that 
had stayed his hand when his hour of triumph came. 

His experiences, unpleasant as they had been, had had 
their advantages : they had drawn him and his family 
closer together. 

In his daughter Barbara, as she wished him good-night 
(knowing nothing, of course, of the escape), he had sud- 
denly become aware of a girlish freshness and grace he 
had never looked for or cared to see before. Roly, after 


THE RECKONING. 


267 


this, too, had a claim upon him he could never wish to for- 
get, and even with the graceless Dick there was a warmer 
and more natural feeling on both sides — a strange result, 
no doubt, of such unfilial behavior, but so it was. 

Mr. Bultitude would never after this consider his family 
as a set of troublesome and thankless incumbrances; 
thanks to Dick’s offices during the interregnum, they would 
henceforth throw off their reserve and constraint in their 
father’s presence, and, in so doing, open his eyes to quali- 
ties of which he had hitherto been in contented ignorance. 


It would be pleasanter, perhaps, to take leave of Mr. 
Bultitude thus, as he sits by his bedroom fire in the first 
flush of supreme and unalloyed content. 

But I feel almost bound to point out a fact which few 
will find any difficulty in accepting — namely, that, although 
the wrong had been retrieved without scandal or exposure, 
for which Paul could not be too thankful, there were many 
consequences which could not but survive it. 

Neither father nor son found himself exactly in the 
same position as before their exchange of characters. 

It took Mr. Bultitude considerable time and trouble to 
repair all the damage his son’s boyish excesses had wrought 
both at Westbourne Terrace and in the city. He found 
the discipline of his clerks’ room and counting-house 
sorely relaxed, and his office-boy in particular attempted a 
tone toward him of such atrocious familiarity that he was 
indignantly dismissed, much to his astonishment, the very 
first day. And probably Paul will never quite clear him- 
self of the cloud that hangs over a man of business who, 
in the course of however well regulated a career, is known 
to have been at least once “ a little odd.” 

And his home, too, was distinctly demoralized : his 
cook was an artist, unrivaled at soups and entries ; but 
he had got rid of her, notwithstanding. 

It was only too evident that she looked upon herself as 
the prospective mistress of this household, and he did 
not feel called upon as a parent to fulfill any expectations 
which Dick’s youthful cupboard-love had unintentionally 
excited. 


268 


VICE VERSA. 


For some time, as fresh proof of Dick’s extravagances 
came home to him, Paul found it cost him no little effort 
to restrain a tendency to his former bitterness and resent- 
ment, but he valued the new understanding between him- 
self and his son too highly to risk losing it again by any 
open reproach, and so with each succeeding discovery the 
victory over his feelings became easier. 

As for Dick, he found the inconveniences at which his 
father had hinted anything but imaginary, as will perhaps 
be easily understood. 

It was an unpleasant shock to discover that in one short 
week his father had contrived somehow to procure him a 
lasting unpopularity. He was obviously looked upon by 
all, masters and boys, as a confirmed coward and sneak. 
And although some of his companions could not fairly re- 
proach him on the latter score, the imputation was partic- 
ularly galling to Di’ck, who had always treated such prac- 
tices with sturdy contempt. 

He was sorely tempted at times to right himself by de- 
claring the real state of the case ; but he remembered his 
promise and his father’s unexpected clemency, and his 
gratitude always kept him silent. 

He never quite understood how it was that the whole 
school seemed to have an impression that they could kick 
and assault him generally with perfect impunity ; but a 
few very unsuccessful experiments convinced them that 
this was a popular error on their part. 

Although, however, in everything else he did gradually 
succeed in recovering all the ground his father had lost 
him,, yet there was one respect in which, I am sorry to say, 
he found all his efforts to retrieve himself hopeless. 

His pretty princess, with the gray eyes and soft brown 
hair, cruelly refused to have anything more to do with 
him. For Dulcie’s pride had been wounded by what she 
considered his shameless perfidy on that memorable Satur- 
day by the parallel bars, and the last lingering traces of 
affection had vanished before Paul’s ingratitude on the 
following Monday, and she never forgave him. 

She did not even give him an opportunity of explaining 
himself, never by word or sign, up to the last day of the 
term, showing that she was even aware of his return. 


THE RECKONING . 


269 


What was worse, in her resentment she transferred her 
favor to Tipping, who became her humble slave for a too 
brief period ; after which he was found wanting in polish, 
and was ignominiously thrown over for the shy new boy 
Kiffin, whose head Dick found a certain melancholy 
pleasure in punching in consequence. 

This was Dick’s punishment, and a real heavy one he 
found it. He is at Harrow now, where he is doing fairly 
well ; but I think there are moments even yet when Dul- 
cie’s charming little face, her pretty confidences, and her 
chilling disdain, are remembered with something as nearly 
resembling a heartache as a healthy, unsentimental boy 
can allow himself. 

Perhaps, if some day he goes back once more to Crich- 
ton House “ to see the fellows,” this time with the myste- 
rious glamour of a great public school about him, he may 
yet obtain forgiveness, for she is getting horribly tired of 
Kiffin, who to tell the truth, is something of a milksop. 

As for the Garuda Stone, I really can not say what has 
become of it. Perhaps it was dashed to pieces on the 
cobble-stones of the stables behind the terrace, and a 
good thing too. Perhaps it was not, and is still in exist- 
ence, with all its dangerous power as ready for use as ever 
it was ; and in that case the best I can wish my readers is, 
that they may be mercifully preserved from finding it any- 
where, or, if they are unfortunate enough to come upon it, 
that they may at least be more careful with it than Mr. 
Paul Bultitude, by whose melancholy example, I trust they 
will take timely warning. 

And with these very sincere wishes I beg to bid them a 
reluctant farewell. 


THE END. 



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